Yours Truly
by Flamist.Rika
Summary: As a new threat to Gotham City's troubled livelihood steps into the foreground, a young woman struggles to figure out how to move on with the shards of her now shattered life in a new place, as a young man brings with him a dastardly plan to bring the city they both just arrived in to the only place it belongs; on it's knees.
1. Prologue

_Yours Truly_

 _Prologue_

Gotham City. A city of sins and secrets. To some it was a city of refuge; a city of dreams. And to others? It was a prison as their lives were wrapped in a vicious cycle of debauchery and drugs they wouldn't pull themselves from.

Home to the elusive vigilante 'Batman', who came at the shining summons of a spotlight that gave the image of a bat to the clouds and the night sky. Soon to be home to a new threat; a man named Bane who came from the east. And now the permanent prision of a woman named Zamirah, who hailed from the west.

To an outsider who would see their stories unwind and intertwine like yarn fallen from a basket, it would seem a cliche scenario. The Hero, the Villain and the Woman. As always, they would assume that the Hero would defeat the Villain and save the Woman. But it was different this time.

What would you do, if I told a different tale?

The one of a woman, cast out from all she's known, branded for something she didn't do, and banished to a place far more savage than her own homelands? The one of a man, struggling to gauge his own worth in a city his family built where he could barely manage to understand his own destiny? Or perhaps you'd like to hear the story of a man who devoted himself to a "just" cause, ended up betrayed by the same person he devoted himself to?

Confused? All of these people have one thing in common; Traditions.

Traditions to uphold, for the 'Hero'. Traditions to to break, by the 'Villain'. And traditions to resign to, by the 'Woman'. And then? If they go against these?

Will they find the 'peace' or the 'end' that they all so desperately seek?

But not all stories; start with something so big and heavy. Sometimes the biggest things that pave our future is just the courage to travel a path barred to us.


	2. Backdrop

Yours Truly

Chapter 1 - Backdrop

I promised you a story, Reader, and you shall have it but forgive me if I struggle to decide where to begin. Should I start at the end and work backwards? Perhaps in the middle and will these electronic pages with bits and pieces of the past, like one would sprinkle chocolate chips into cookie dough? Perhaps at the beginning or where they all meet?

I think I'd like to start where I think it all began; with Zamirah. Yes, I know your irritation and annoyance at 'yet-another-fanfiction-where-the-main-character-is-the-beginning' but don't you think it's much more interesting to see the world through someone else's eyes; through an outsider's eyes?

I do.

I want to know the emotions and the feeling that power every word, every glance, every reaction. These are the things that drive us, a humans, to be different from the norm.

 _Let's start with where I think the chain began._

 _With the little patter of a child's feet as they run through the hard and beige streets of their rural village, caught between ancient ways and modern days much like the clan this child hailed from._

 _Close your eyes and clear you mind. Think of a warm wind that rolls in from the surrounding desert, carrying with it a dry heat with that a hint of abrasiveness from the sand. If you stand your toes would sink into the shallow pits of sand around the weathered away stones and forgotten staircases of this village. The child runs past you, determination in their eyes as they blatantly disobey their parents warnings and run down the old stairs towards the deeper part of 'town'. You follow after them as you wander where they head to and watch as they jog past adobe-style and simple buildings, never gracing more than a second story, then dart around a corner and down an alley._

 _As you follow against the blow of the wind you notice this child turn again and continue to pursue. They lead you into a market and as you follow the child you glance around and notice something odd; the people around you are dark skinned with fair hair. Their hairs range from the utmost golden to glistening white and silvers for any males you see- and for the females, aside from the children, you notice they all have gleaming greyish-silver hair, wearing bands of gold and silver in them and jewelry of the same colors. Except this child you chase after;_

 _Their hair is black. And their skin is fair._

 _As an outsider and perhaps a reader, you may think this as odd; and to this child's clan which consist of the people around you it's so much more._

 _This singular child is considered not 'beautiful' and 'unique' as some people might call them- they are considered 'vile', 'disgusting', and 'evil'._

 _All over the world, people have become more accepting of differences in among them. MAny now accept the LGBT into their hearts and homes. Different cultures are accepted and welcomes. The color of your best friend's skin does not deter your friendship. But this place is not one of them. This place, lost to maps and to society, is steeped and drenched in traditions no longer necessary and more distasteful than anything you would guess- but they know no better. They know nothing else as they slowly allow themselves to gradually progress outside of the village and into the world around them._

 _In this part of the world, sexism still reigns high and mighty and governs much of their slowly advancing ideals- Men are allowed much more freedom than the women. They're allowed to go out and work the better jobs outside of the village. Their allowed to pick their wives whether or not their spouses approve. They're allowed to make the rules. The women work jobs 'that are women's work'; nurses, teachers, housewives, mothers, maids, and secretaries. Men were permitted to get jobs like doctors and surgeons, firefighters, police officers, mechanics, and engineers._

 _But the child runs into a mechanic's shop from a back door and you quietly follow behind to find out why, looking within to find an old shop made of old traditions. Let me tell you of this shop, dear reader, because it is important to our story._

 _This shop is called 'Kalim and Sons' Motors', and it is a family owned establishment in a part of the world where motorcycles are more common than cars for their versatility against the rugged terrain and the narrow streets. However it is no longer ran by Kalim- who was named Kalim the fourth, but is ran by a man who welcomes the child with a warm and friendly smile from behind an old desk where his hookah pipe sits and fills the room with a sweet smoke. It is ran by Kalim the Fifth. What's so important about this child and Kalim the Fifth of his name?_

 _Because Kalim is different. He is different than the tribe they both hail from, he is against the culture and the Old Ways, and he favors the freedom of a country far away- America._

 _Kalim is a Surgeon- one of the finest in his field. But when his father fell ill and passed he left this old little shop to Kalim who had been taught all the tools of a mechanic's trade at a young age, when he himself worked on their customer's worn motorcycles with his father as a child. It was what helped him decide to become a surgeon. Mechanics could fix machines. And as a boy, Kalim thought 'if I can fix machines, why can I not fix people?' And his fascination with the mechanics of an old motorcycle transferred over to his fascination with the human body when he went off to college. Now? Now he passed down this passion to the child who eagerly stood in front of him, bare-foot and smiling at the only person in her life to not treat them as a nuisance or a deplorable thing- but as an equal and a person._

 _Kalim left the United States after receiving his Master's Degree in Surgery and received many awards for his hard-work and dedication, but the only thing more important to him was his family. And therefore, despite how he had grown accustom to the American Lifestyle, he came home to run the little shop that kept food on the table and clothes on the backs of his family. "Good Morning, little one." He greets with a smile and the child edges closer._

" _Good morning, Uncle." The child replied but don't be fooled, Reader- they are of no blood-relation._

 _The child's own father sees them as an abomination and does not associate with them and their mother and siblings begrudgingly take care of them. But this doesn't bother the child because they have known Kalim to be their 'father' to replace the ill-willed father they have by blood._

 _And this child? A young girl of 8, named Zamirah. And as Kalim teached her how to fix up the tired motors that come into the little shop of backup motors and motorcycles alike, she couldn't be happier._

 _And beneath the simple white garb she wears that's dusty from the sands, her ivory skin is peppered with bruises of yellows, purples, blues and blacks. An attempt by her relatives and maternal parents that with enough hits, she'll 'vanish', but it doesn't stop her from coming to the little shop. Nothing will. And she had big dreams too as she listens to the warbly American songs that come through on the old radio in the corner of the shop._

 _One day, she wants to be a surgeon and help people, just like Kalim did before he came back. All she wants to do is help people. Such a selfless desire for a child so unwanted by her family and her tribe; to help those who need it the most._

 _As a person and a writer, I believe people tend to forget something that's not often spoken; From the harshest conditions come the strongest people._

 _In this forgotten spot of the world, in this moment in time, if Zamirah were to die? Only Kalim would mourn her._

 _No one would cry for her. No one would pity her short life. No one would feel sad for her departure from this life. She is the known to them in their garbled and forgotten language as 'The Unwanted'._

 _But not to Kalim, who had a wife and sons- but never had a daughter. And Zamirah was the closest thing to it._

"What shall we do today then, hm?" Kalim smiled and Zamirah went to a dusty old bookshelf and pulled down a book form one of the parts-riddles shelves, running over to him and holding it up to him. It was one of several books that Kalim had brought back for Zamirah from the bookstores in America- Harry Potter. "Thats a big book, are you sure?"

"I want to read big books, so that I learn fast." She said firmly and Kalim laughed, "Will you help me?"

"Of course, little one." Kalim agreed.

 _Though it is against traditions to associate with little Zamirah, reader, her parents contradict this by caring not what she does. As long as she doesn't openly ask for education from them or that she go to school of any sort, or hold any type of job. She's forsaken and therefore in their eyes and the tribe's eyes, and she is not to be so 'privileged'._

 _For now reader, we'll stop here. I'll weave the rest of her tale but you needed to know the things that would be the 'foundation' if you will, for why she winds up so very far from home._

 _But rest assured, all the little bits will come together hopefully. And as a writer, I hope I can paint the picture well-enough to be worth your time._


	3. Scenery

Yours Truly

Chapter 2- Scenery

"This will be your room." A male voice said as they walked a young female down the hallway of a hotel in the underbelly of Gotham City. The apartment building itself was in a place one would refer to as 'the slums', it's neighboring buildings have fallen into disarray as it had.

The outside was once polished and grey, now caked in years upon years' worth of painted-over graffiti from local gang members and the fresher spray-painted symbols and words of the same kind. Whoever was given upkeep of the building had seemed to grown tired of repainting the walls and given up on it. There were bars drilled to the outside of the lower level windows to keep out the unwanted, but the metal held rust and years of no-maintenance about their screws and beings. many apartment windows were boarded up with plywood from the second floor up, where the glass had been smashed out and either laziness of the landlord or the tenants failed to replace the windows themselves. The woman's room was not one of these, luckily.

The man unlocked it and gave her a smile with several gaps in it where his teeth had been lost, trying to be friendly, "I'll get a spare made in just a second. You'll be B6, ok? Second floor, 8th room you know." She looked from the dingy off-white door with faded brass numbers to the landlord and smiled,

"Thank you." She said and he smiled a bit wider until the door unlocked and he pushed it inward as she quietly kept her hands clasped at her waist, going into the room with him.

It was a good sized apartment, despite being dingy and unkempt. From the door one would enter into a family/ living room, and there was a kitchen past that. On the right wall was a bedroom door that lead to the bedroom. Within that was a closet and a bathroom next to it. Perhaps 500 square feet all together, briskly furnished with a bed, a table in the middle, and some bookshelves on the left wall. She smiled at the old and dark-skinned landlord who looked up at her, "The laundry room is down in the basement. So, um, have a nice night." He said before leaving her copy of the key on the table and leaving.

She looked around and sighed, walking over to the bed and setting her bag down on the bed before gradually sinking into the mattress next to it and staring at the bag. It was all she had left now of everything she knew and nothing at all. She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket, worn almost to nothing from her anxiously turning it over and over, folding it every way and how, memorizing the writing of a familiar hand in dark blue ink.

They were instructions on how to get to the States. Where to go. What to do. And how to find a way to contact the one who wrote the rushed letters down for her.

She was scared. She was tired. She was heart-broken; but the last few words on the bottom of the page were the most important to her and kept her together.

' _Stay strong for me, Little One, and you will grow strong for you.'_

She took a deep breath and looked around to try and come to terms with her surroundings. This day was one she had been long dreading and knew had been coming for several years now- but it seemed it had come so quickly.

And now, she was in some slums in an apartment in Gotham City. It could always be worse but it was pretty bad right now. After a few long moments, she unzipped the singular bag she had managed to bring with her with all of her belongings. A few changes of clothes, a hair brush, a bottle of perfume, and then a make up bag full of all the make-up pieces that she could manage to get her hands on in her homeland, a letter from her father that had already been ripped open, and a faded old poster she had gotten from her Uncle's shop wall. All her worldly possessions were in this bag. She pulle dout the poster and unfolded it, smoothing out the creases upon the little bed lovingly before propping it up in the window window in the room which stood above the bed.

It was a faded picture of the Statue of Liberty, standing tall amid an ocean, and the large bold words of a single sentence divided so that half of it was on the top and half on the bottom. The American flag waving in the background. 'Everyone is welcome; Home of the Brave, Land of the Free!'

She sat back and smiled at it happily, this window being the only one that brought the light of the day into her room. It seemed to illuminate the paper and make it almost as if the dream printed on it was real. Almost.

Her uncle had always wanted her to go to America- and now she was here. Despite the situation, she was here, and she stood up. Her lifted spirit lasted as long as her walk to the darkened bathroom where she flicked on the light- and gasped in horror at her reflection. More precisely, her hair. She hadn't seen it since they had changed it- and she looked- horrible.

To an outsider, her hair was an exotic and eye-catching trend. Her dark tresses had been turned to silvery-grey locks that twisted into natural slightly-curled waves, but her left bangs were different. They held the three markings and she was heart-broken, for the colors had been dyed from the roots of her hair all the way down to the ends, in perfectly straight lines right next to one another. from inwards out, they went like so; Black, red, and white.

The Sin of Abomination. The Sin of Adultery. The Sin of the Whore. All of them false and unbased- all of them clear to the world now.

She felt the food she had managed to finally keep down travel back up her throat and she quickly moved to the toilet, lifting up the seat, and emptying her stomach into the porcelain bowl. When she had finished, she flushed the toilet and washed her mouth out; careful to avoid looking at her reflection. She turned the lights out soon after wards and grabbed the apartment key, adding it to her little keychain right beside her other key, before heading out of the apartment and locking up.

A short trip down the creaky staircase, stained in shades of yellow and green over faded white paint brought her to the front door of the 'complex' and took a deep breath as she took a step out into Gotham City.

A few blocks away, a man sat in a swanky garage, sitting on a mechanic's stool beside a motorcycle, his blonde hair cut short into the most recent trend as his green eyes looked over the engine. He glanced at the open garage door on the opposite side of the building, natural light pouring in how he liked it- but that's not what Rafiki was looking for.

He was keeping an eye out for The Unwanted.

However, his cellphone ringing broke his stare and he rose to his feet, going over to his workshop table and picking up the cellphone. His brother's picture on the touch-screen for his caller-id. Rafiki slid his finger over the glass and lifted the phone to his ear while he took a toothpick out of his mouth with his free hand, "IT _has not shown, brother."_ He informed his family member in their native tongue. He kept their culture close to his heart as many did in his family- except his wayward and eldest brother on the other line.

" _SHE will be there."_ The voice promised, firm to give gender to whom they talked about as he always did. " _She's good with the customers, you should let her handle them when she gets in."_ Rafiki clenched his teeth angrily at the thought of it. " _She's a good woman, if given the chance. Have faith."_

" _You smuggled her out like some mistress of yours, wake me to tell me these things- I will think of something but you are not the one in charge of this shop. I AM."_ Rafiki hissed, their native tongue sounding more like growns and rapidly shot-off words with no real origin. But it was old and very much alive in their lands.

" _Remember your place, brother."_ Kalim warned seriously on the other end and Rafiki bit his lip while he sat down, glancing up to see a woman standing in his shop, waiting for him to finish the phone call patiently. " _I hope that the money I sent does go to her well-being, Brother. For your sake."_ Rafiki stared at the young woman who stood there, almost completely stunned- before he noticed the three defines strands in her hair and knew her to be the woman they talked about.

" _The Unwanted is here."_ The words from Rafiki's lips came with venom and disgust- as how the rest of their Tribe spoke of her.


	4. Introduction

Yours Truly

Chapter 3- Introduction

As she walked towards the shop, Zamirah looked up at the trees lining the better neighborhoods through which she walked now. Their leaves were browning and golding and it put a smile on her face. She enjoyed watching the seasons change and continued on towards her new place of work- of course, Rafiki didn't pay her for her labor but she didn't say anything.

What right did she have to complain, when he could very well make a single phone call on a whim, and she'd never see another sunny-but-brisk autumn morning? It was a thin line she walked and often with his temper and distaste of her, it was made that much harder, but she kept quiet.

And if someone asked why she didn't have a coat on as the temperature gradually dipped towards the season's whims? The answer from her lips would be of the simplest and politest caliber; because she didn't have one.

And if one were to dive deeper and discover her past, they would know the sad life she had lived, but it would have to be a task which once could not ask of her. The questions and ideals of the Modern World, perhaps even the 21st century, were too overwhelming to listen to and answer when the ideal and practices of her Homeland were all she knew. Even if she had been excluded to the highest extent and almost completely ostracized at birth, they were still her Tribe and kept her around if only at arm's length.

But thankfully, she had her Uncle to look out for her and provide a 'warm family environment', so on a psychological level she would develop as naturally as everyone else.

In her Homeland, she was allowed very few personal possessions, not that because she wasn't allowed to get them; because many of hers were destroyed by her fellow clansmen and women. What she carried with her to Gotham City were the fragments and articles she could hide.

However, as Zamirah walked into the garage, she kept these thoughts behind her in the light of the timid and slightly cloudy morning. Rafiki had just finished with a car and shut the hood on it as she walked over and he looked at her, " _Go and call the customer who bought this in, that his car's done."_ He told her as he picked up a shop rag and wiped his hands free of oil and grime onto the pasty white rag. "I'm going for a smoke." She nodded contently as he pulled out a pack of marlboros from the chest pocket on his navy-colored mechanic's jumper, walking past her as he flipped open the top and pulled one out. As he put it to his lips, his free hand pulled out a lighter while the other hand replaced the box into the pocket,

" _Don't go thinking you can work on your bike before doing what I tell you to, Unwanted."_ He hissed venomously, pausing a moment to flick the lighter's flame to life and burn the end of his cigarette before he replaced the lighter to his packet. With a deep breath, he took the first puff of his cigarette, making it hiss to life, before blowing the smoke spitefully and disdainfully in her face, " _Unlike my brother, I have no problem putting this out in your flesh, Unwanted."_

Rafiki emphasized his words by taking the cigarette from his lips and moving to burn her with it as he talked, and Zamirah quickly moved from his path, the sentence ending with a dark chuckle as he walked towards the sun-filled day outside the open garage-doored wall. One might wonder why he was so cruel, but Zamirah didn't. Instead she wondered how two brothers could be so different- if only for a moment- before going to the counter of the shop and going to the computer.

Electronics were frowned upon in her homeland, seen as a privilege of those who had "a lot of money and influence". But Rafiki had been begrudgingly kind enough to show her how to use the one in his shop, which was used for business. Such as where to put the customer's orders and requests, how to charge them accordingly, and where their contact information was. Smell secretary-like things that 'make use' of her to his advantage.

Zamirah found the customer's information and sat down behind the counter-like desk on a tall but cushioned stool and picked up the telephone- another item now welcome in their old world- and slowly pressed the buttons for the client's cellphone number.

Televisions. Telephones. Computers. All this reserved for the elite and banned completely from Zamirah. Women were beneath men in their culture and her own worth came out to less than a criminal's.

"Yes, hello, this is the auto shop off of 16th st and Broadway? I'm looking for a John Hammel?" She spoke their language fluently and without an accent, something her Uncle had painstakingly taught her, reading her every book's sentence in their tongue and then the English tongue of the Americans. The memory brought a smile to her face and a small yet friendly uptake ot her voice, "Mr. Hammel, I'm sorry to bother you but your car is ready for pick up. Will you be able to do so anytime today?" She waited for an answer before smiling, "Yes, I'll be here in the next hour. The total is $638.45; now, if that's too much to do in one payment, we can certainly make a payment plan if that would be better for you? Ok, so I'll put on her there you'll be paying it in full. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hammel, and we'll see you in an hour. A good day to you too, Sir, Goodbye." She said and hung up the phone, typing into the computer into a notes section on the client's account with them, that the payment would be made in full, then minimized the window and looked around.

The shipment of fresh and clean shop towels for Rafiki had came in and were all sitting on the shelves nearly, and the trash can full of dirty ones was, well, full. She picked up the phone again and tapping each number individually and put the receiver once more up to her ear. She was proud of herself for adapting as quickly as she did, but it was a slow process. However, she had the patience for it, "Hi, would you be available to pick up the towels from Rafi's Auto Shop today?" She listened for the answer and nodded, "Alright, thank you very much. Goodbye." With that, she put the receiver down just as Rafiki entered the shop. "The laundry man will come and get the towels later-"

" _Be quiet, Unwanted. Your voice is like a crow's."_ Raifiki interjected with a moody growl, the woman closing her mouth as he ran a hand through his hair and looked at the car, " _Go. Get out of my sight."_ She got off the stool obediently and walked over to the other side of the shop behind a wall where most of the parts he used were stored in a long and rectangular 'room'. It held no doors, just a parting in the walls that kept it out of sight from the customers.

A red motorcycle sat in the middle of the room and Zamirah looked upon it's existence proudly as she walked over to it and ran her hand across the smooth leather seat.

She had worked for years, slowly pooling together and hiding the money she could get her hands on, for a motorcycle. One similar to her Uncle's, a street bike, not a dirt bike like those of her tribe used. The odd jobs and errands she ran and worked under a different name for those who did not know of her clan or family, were so numerous in number that even she forgot how many there were. Her Uncle had helped her pick it out when she had gotten all she could.

It was one of the happiest days of her life, to that day. Zamirah had no idea that her future would hold many other happy days, but all she knew was that so far- it was solely thus.

Zamirah picked up a few tools and sat before the bike, smiling, "Good morning, Mirage." She greeted sweetly as she set the tools down and ran her fingers along the fire-engine red body. "I'll change your oil today, once Rafiki leaves, but for now, I'll check and see if you need any adjustments."

It was a habit she had picked up from her Uncle; talking to the vehicles. He, in turn, had picked it up from an internship in a Hospital on an Island called 'Japan'. A place where they believes machines had souls. Her Uncle would tell her that his job as a surgeon was very similar to his family's work as mechanics; they both required your hands, intense focus, and attention to detail. Their lives, a person's' and the machines', were in your hands and it was up to you to save them.

He encouraged her talking to the machines, telling her to practice speaking english to them and her own native tongue, and after a while it seemed as if she could tell these "lifeless machines" had mood swings. Today for instance, Mirage was a bit bitter. Perhaps because the motorcycle had spent the night in a garage rather than near her owner; but with the neighborhood the way it was, Zamirah did not want to risk her bike being stolen or damaged.

Around lunchtime, Rafiki did his usual disappearing act. Left her alone in the show for two hours, locking her in, as he left to probably eat. But today, as soon as that lock clicked, Zamirah moved Mirage to the rest of the garage to have the room to comfortably change the motorcycle's oil.

She left a moment to go to the back room where the parts were to grab a new oil filter; and the sound of her stepping onto one of the shelves to reach it, cloaked the sound of someone picking the lock to enter the shop.

Zamirah walked back into the rest of the garage as she checked the number on the part to ensure it was the proper one for the make and model of her bike- and when she looked up, four men were standing about a foot away from said motorcycle.

One of them was taller than the rest and bald- with some type of strange black mask on, over his mouth which wrapped about his head, wearing a wool and leather coat over a heavy-looking vest. The three around him looked like the type of militia members from her homeland, however this wasn't her Homeland; this was America. And hopefully, they were civil despite entering the building unlawfully, "Good afternoon. May I help you?" She offered and the man in front spoke first,

"Yes, I'm looking for a man called 'Rafiki', is he around?" The voice that came from the man was strong and firm despite being garbled by the mask and had an odd accent to it; however, she credited that to the mask as well.

"No, he's out for lunch." Zamirah voiced as she took normal steps to her motorcycle, stopping next to it, "He'll be back at 2:30. Would you like to leave a message for him- perhaps some type of phone number?" Another one stepped forward to the man's left,

"We should wait." The militia man said firmly, but the one in the mask stared at Zamirah who locked eyes with him before he broke the eye contact and looked at his companion.

"Call him here, brother." The Masked One told him and the man pulled out a device like Rafiki's as Zamirah looked from him to the Masked Man again, setting the part down on the bike. "Odd that he would lock you in here, miss…?"

To the pause where Zamirah would insert her name, she instead looked at him in the eye and pointed out, "Odd that you would pick the lock to get in, rather than wait." She put a hand on Mirage as she felt the tension rise when she overheard the smaller man speaking on the phone with someone. Perhaps Rafiki, perhaps not. It would not be the first time that people were sent after her in the guise of customers; another attempt to get rid of her in her homeland, courtesy of her own people. "I don't think I got your name." The masked man glanced at his companion who nodded at him, before looking back at Zamirah.

"Bane." He said firmly and she nodded, "And you?"

"I have no name." She said firmly. Which was half true. IT was 'Zamirah', but with her banishment also came another condition;

She would go into the world, nameless. An insult within itself that denied her very existence. But it seemed to interest the taller man in front of her.


	5. Spotlight

Yours Truly

Chapter 4 - Spotlight

Zamirah opened up the mini-fridge in the shop's small break room that Rafiki usually stumbled into in the mornings where he'd partake his first few cups of coffee before starting the work day. Lined with bottles of water, Powerades and a couple solidary Gatorades, she took out five bottles of water and gently shut the fridge with a nudge from her knee before heading back out into the garage; where the four men who had surprised her were now spread out about the various stools and chairs that the garage sparingly offered.

She played the hostess as she handed out the water bottles to the farthest man first, working her way back towards their seeming-leader, Bane, who sat upon a chair he had wrangled up. Then kept a water bottle for herself. "Rafiki said it'll be another 5 minutes." One of the militia men spoke as he hung up his cellphone and Zamirah moved to go back to the break room before bane spoke up,

"Help yourself." Bane's voice reached out to her and she stopped, looking back at him, only to find the man gesture to the stool behind the desk. Silently, she changed her direction and walked over to the stool before taking a seat upon it. Wondering when they'd all leave as they sat around like hungry jackals awaiting their next meal.

She was a bit wary of Bane but she was more unnerved by the fact that he was actually talking to her like a person; like her Uncle would. In the sense that he didn't find holding a conversation with her distasteful or 'beneath him' as many so often did in her life. It made her nervous and left her feeling like it was some type of ploy that would give her false-hope and lead to her being stabbed in the back.

It was another form of torture she suffered in her homeland.

"Where are you from?" Bane questioned casually to make light conversation and she looked to him as he leaned back in the chair and met her eyes, "Arabia, perhaps?" She blinked in surprise,

"What makes you think so?" She asked him and he tapped the corner of his eyes. Her eyes? What that what he meant? "Oh. Um, no, I'm not from Arabia." She answered and he ventured again,

"Egypt, Perhaps?" Bane questioned and she shook her head. As she opened her mouth to vocalize that she was from the West and not the East, Rafiki came into the shop and hissed his usual slew of hateful venom her way in the tongue of their ancestors.

" _Shut your mouth, Unwanted, no one wants to hear your voice."_ Rafiki hissed and she did so, " _Get out."_ At the command, Zamirah got down from the stool and Bane's men got up as he stood up,

"Please. Sit." Bane told her firmly and gestured back to the stool. Torn between her Uncle's brother and the more imposing male, she stood where she was a moment before slowly taking up her place upon the stool again. Though Bane was turned half-way towards the woman and looking at her, he spoke to Rafiki, "You've kept me waiting, Rafi. I'm displeased." When Rafiki opened his mouth to offer something up, Bane quickly cut her off, "However, she saw to us being entertained. Now; who is she?"

Rafiki stumbled over the chance to try and redeem himself which he was all too-eager for, "My niece, Zamirah. She's just got here a few months ago; forgive her for her manners, she's new to the country." Rafiki laughed a bit nervously as he added, "She's not allowed to speak her name. Old family custom-"

"I need those bikes, Rafi." Bane interjected as he showed a small fraction of patience for the man as he did with Zamirah. Rafiki looked back at the man,

"Yes, I'll have them in three weeks-"

"I'll give you one." Bane said simply and the other man's lip twitched in shock at the shorter span of time given to him. The larger man shrugged, "Plans change."

"There isn't- I..I won't have that many in a week." Rafi said and Zamirah quietly dismounted from the stool. She moved away from them, aware that this seemed to be a conversation that didn't involve her and shouldn't. Aware that she should make herself scarce as Rafiki continued on, "I've already gotten them and they're on the way. Can't you just wait?" With a nervous lip of his lips he slipped in, "It might take a bit extra."

"Rafiki, you should know better." Bane said and moved towards the red bike in the garage- and towards Zamirah who stopped next to it, "Perhaps you have some on hand that I could borrow?" Rafiki turned to the man who stopped on the other side of the motorcycle, looking down at Zamirah who defiantly looked back up at him with her hand placed on one of the bike's handlebars. "What a look." He murmured towards her and she didn't falter as Rafiki drew towards them,

"I-I could get some but I'll need time." Rafiki said and Bane broke the eye contact to shoot him a glare,

"You always need something." He said curtly and looked back at Zamirah who had softened and now stood her ground. "Are you afraid?"

"One has to know fear to be afraid." Zamirah said before Rafiki hissed in their native language for her to hand over the keys to Mirage. The keys to _her_ bike. The keys to _her_ companion. And she wasn't going to let someone like Rafiki take it from her. Not here and not now. She had run enough in her life and she needed to stand her ground. "This one's mine. And my answer is 'no'."

" _Just give him the keys, Unwanted, he'll kill you otherwise."_ Rafiki warned her and Bane looked at him, "I'm sorry, she's difficult for a woman, isn't she?"

"No." Bane answered and looked back at her a final time before tapping the seat of the motorcycle and withdrawing from their little stare down, leaving the store with his men, the two standing there alone in the shop once more when the doors gently swung closed.

Zamirah closed her eyes as she let out a deep breath, " _You dislike me, yet you warn me."_ She said to Rafiki who said nothing and walked off. She stroked her bike's seat as if to soothe the machine and took a few more deep breaths to calm herself too.

The day carried on normally as Rafiki fell back into his normal routine of irritated/ disgusted smoke breaks in between working on the vehicles of his clientele and Zamirah sat behind the counter helping his clients pay for their finished cars. It was a normal doldrum day once he opened up the garage door again and Mirage had been put away.

However, in between in the moments of "spare time" Zamirah could scavenge amid chores that Rafiki was too lazy to do and taking care of all things secretarial, she found herself wondering about the masked man who brazenly lock-picked his way into the establishment. Granted it wasn't the nicest place; but why here? Why not into a dealership for motorcycles?

The more answers she could find to justify Bane's actions, the more questions her mind arose and the more she questioned herself as to why she was even defending him.

"I have things to take care of." Rafiki told her as the sun sank down and gave away to night, while he set a key on the counter before her. "Lock up tonight." She was stunned,

"You...want me to lock up?"

"I didn't stutter." Rafiki hissed as he pulled on his coat and she frowned, "Just turn the light off, then lock up the garage door and the front door. Easy." He said and then groaned, "I wouldn't give you the damn key if I didn't have to go right now." It was abrupt and sudden and too much of a coincidence. But it was an opportunity to show him that she was more than capable of being his equal and to show she was responsible; something she welcomed.

"Y-Yes, I will." She vowed and he left the shop an hour before it closed.

This was usually the 'Quiet Hour' as hardly anyone came into the shop. Usually this was the time that she'd do the cleaning work; sweeping up loose nuts and bolts, spraying the oil off the epoxyed floors, wiping the client's cars of Rafiki's careless handprints, or doing some other menial 'women's work' that Rafiki deemed worthy of her talents.

But since Rafiki wasn't here, she didn't necessarily have to do any of it, and there wasn't much to do. She had already done the cleaning work an hour ago, so really the shop was all hers for an hour. One long hour to be by herself as she tried to think of something to pass the time.

Mirage had her oil changed and had a fresh tune-up. The floors were clean. The shelves were clean. The dirty towels had been picked up, and clean ones placed for tomorrow. Cars had been picked up and there were appointments for drop offs tomorrow but none for the rest of the day.

She flicked her gaze over to the clock. 5:01 pm. All of that thinking and she still had 59 minutes left to figure out something to keep her busy. Why not just lock up and call it a day? It was Sunday-

And Sundays in the United States of America, were hailed as days of rest and worship.

Zamirah got off the stool and started with the back rooms first, sliding her delicate fingers downwards against the light switches to shut the lights off. She worked her way back around to the garage, pressing and holding the button that gradually brought it down to the floor- and missing the vestige of someone walking towards the shop. When the metal door finally touched down, she leaned down and pushed two levers into the wall, locking it in place, before padlocking the levers closed to keep the door down.

She stood up just as the door jingled, "I'm sorry but we're...closing." She said politely but the last word hung in the air as an uncommon but not unknown figure stood there.

"Indeed you are." A metallic voice answered as a hand rose up- turning over the old-fashioned, black-and-white sign that said 'open' to it's backside that read 'closed'. "As you were." Zamirah didn't hesitate to continue to the other garage door that took up the wall and press the button to lower it to, dirty from years of use under a mechanic's hands. The figure put his hands in his pockets and stood next to the front door. She bent down and locked the door up in the same way she did it's counterpart before standing and moving towards the front door- the last barrier between the shop being fully closed and between her and Bane. But since he had helped himself to walking in, it didn't seem like a very good 'barrier'.

As she approached him, he moved towards the front door and exited, holding the door open for her gentlemanly so that Zamirah could exit the shop herself, before releasing it and standing almost silently behind her. If not for his breathing apparatus, he'd have been silent as a tomb, but his mechanical breathing lingered in the air like foreboding music while Zamirah shut and locked the door. She tucked the key in her pocket before turning to him, "Excuse me." She said as she passed him and Bane moved to allow her the small escape; but it was not a victorious one as she tried to place distance between herself and the imposing man.

He quickly closed in and walked beside her, a little faster than she did as his longer legs carried him, "I came to persuade you." Bane told her as he walked next to her, but when she failed to respond after a long moment, he held out his arm in front of her. She stopped to avoid touching him and he used that moment to turn towards her and block her path with his much larger frame, "I'll walk you home and do so."

"Where does a man like you find the time for something like that?" Zamirah asked him as he held out his arm for her to take in only the most gentlemanly way of actions,

"I make the time." He said matter-of-factly, and she refrained from scoffing at his arrogance, moving to evade him before he spoke once more, " _I mean no harm."_ She paused in her movement. It was the language of her native tongue that rolled from his breathing mask, and she looked up at him a moment to which he gestured to his arm, before she moved closer and gingerly wrapped her hand around the inside of his offered arm.

"I didn't know you spoke Mandarin." She said and started the long trek to her apartment complex, and Bane stayed in step with her, allowing her to take the role of leading the way from him.

"You do now." Bane said nonchalantly, " _I could speak to you this way, if you prefer."_ Zamirah held up a hand to him as he offered her the proposition in her native tongue though it lacked her tribe's specific dialect. She still understood.

"No, No I'm fine." She said firmly, "I will not waver, unfortunately; my motorcycle is not for sale." IT was the opening line of their debate. The lever for which opened the floodgates of negotiation and Bane seemed content to ride the overpowering waves on a life raft.

As he walked her home, he put up various good points as to why it would be much in her favor to loan him the motorcycle for what he had planned which she preferred he be vague about. She didn't care and she didn't want to know. Which he respected and tried to sway her to his line of thought as he explained the pros and cons of working with or against him. Inwardly, it made her smile to have someone to talk to on a level like this after months of nothing but grunts from Rafiki who refused to hold a proper conversation with her.

Bane however was more than willing and seemed to relish the fact to even as they came upon the doorstep to her complex where his battle for the night had been decided; he had lost. Zamirah's iron-clad will made for a good opponent as her own wit and mind clashed against all of the holes in his plan. Like a tsunami crashing against a glass pane with bullet holes.

However, he was not spiteful or begrudging about his loss as she released his arm and ascended one of the steps to the front door while he stopped on the sidewalk, "Think it over. I will return tomorrow." He said simply as she looked back at him,

"Good night, Bane." She said and he stood there,

"Good night, Zamirah." He returned and waited until she had gone inside before turning and walking off.

As she entered her apartment and locked herself in, she couldn't help but smile at his persistence. And what their conversation had divulged about him. She wish she had someway to contact her Uncle and tell him about the masked man but she didn't- Rafiki did, however, she realized as she went to the bathroom and turned on the water for a shower.

As her clothes gracefully fell from her curvy body to the floor, Zamirah decided that she'd ask Rafiki if she could contact Kalim tomorrow at work, before she slipped into the shower.

However, on the other side of town, Rafiki was thinking quite the opposite as he paced back and forth over the plush and imported persian rug on his high-end loft floor. Bane was supposed to have met him where they had planned to meet after his shop's business hours were done- not just come into the shop on their own terms. But what could the man say to that creature that he feared worse than he did the woman who he was hiding in his store?

The male was so much larger than him in build and stature, and much creepier in person. It was harder to tell Bane 'no' in person than shout it to one of his subordinates to tell their master. And unfortunately, he was the type of person to come around and ensure things got done himself. The only thing that made Rafiki's paranoia escalate higher was the fact that Bane and The Unwanted had been left almost alone if one didn't count his goons- which Rafiki didn't. The tan man ran his shaky hands through his blonde tresses as he stared out a window into the skyline below his 24th floor loft.

What had she told him? Everything? Nothing? Had she told Bane that Rafiki helped bring her to the country illegally? Had she voiced that Rafiki was cruel to her despite her being a refugee from a foreign country? What the hell did they talk about that made Bane so damn calm?

 _She entertained us._ That was what Bane had said, his haunting voice reverberating in Rafiki's unstable mind like a bad omen, however his mind twisted and contorted what Bane had said to, _She entertained me._

Something entirely different in it's meaning and Rafiki panicked even more.

Then an idea struck like lightning in his disturbed brain. Zamirah was a refugee to America- and she was far from her Homelands. So was Rafiki; and better yet, his brother was nowhere around.

The only reason Rafiki hadn't killed her was because Kalim usually got in the way somehow; but he couldn't do that here. Poor little Unwanted was now in a country where she was all on her own- even if Kalim's steady flow of funds supported her, who was to say that it kept her safe?

Who was to say that perhaps she didn't meet with an unfortunate accident while abroad? Who? Kalim would have to believe Rafiki's corrupt word if something were to happen to the woman.

As Rafiki grinned sinisterly, he only justified his twisted logic; she had heard bits and pieces of Bane and Rafiki's plans. Just enough to warrant her death for 'knowing too much'- however, he could always exaggerate the gravity of the situation.

The Unwanted would be dead, Bane would be much more pleased with Rafiki by his show of loyalty to their agreement, and Kalim would finally be kicked down from his high-horse and belief that he could keep The Unwanted from harm.

Rafiki picked up his cellphone and shakily slid his thumb across the screen before tapping in a phone number and pressed the glass to his ear; nervousness and excitement mixing together in a dangerous cocktail. He waited impatiently for the other line to pick up before his smooth voice slithered past his lips, "It's Rafiki. Listen, I got a little job for you."


	6. Scheme

Yours Truly

Chapter 5- Scheme

Zamirah awoke in her bed to the warm rays of the autumn sun upon her face, creeping in from her window past the moth-eaten rags that served as her drapes. She laid there sleepily blinking away the crumbs upon her lashes before stretching with a soft yawn and gradually raising herself to her elbows. The clock upon the nightstand to the right side of the bed read 8:43 am and she slipped back onto her pillows with a sigh.

She didn't like being 'home'. This apartment was not her home but it was. It was where she slept and bathed. Where she took her meals at night. Where she did her laundry. And supposedly where she was supposed to receive mail, however she knew no letters would come for her now.

She still had a couple months before those from her Homeland made their final decision and until then, she was to live this mundane life. Zamirah eventually sat up in her bed and pushed the covers aside, sitting there for a few long moments as she tried to pull her thoughts together through the fog that was her tired brain.

Chores need to be done and the dishes needed doing she sleepily reminded herself as she glanced out the window to see a nice slightly-overcast day.

She felt so sad, sitting here in this place. Just as she did when she was alone in her Homeland but- her Uncle was always there. Here, she had nothing. There, she had her Uncle. Zamirah put a hand to her chest where her heart was and stared down numbly at her chest, questioning her own heart's emotions.

Why was this loneliness and sadness so much thicker in her throat and lungs than back in her Homeland? Perhaps it was the air of Gotham City, with it's smog? It hurt so much more and so much deeper than it ever had and she wished that it would just end.

She just wanted to be accepted. And here she was; branded by her people and ostracized even more. Rafiki wasn't helpful about easing the pain like his brother was but-

The metallic voice of the man named 'Bane' from the day before, rang out in her mind like ripples against dark waters. They started small and grew bigger and bigger; more and more her mind took from such casual talking.

It was as if he saw her as a person; not just some abomination like everyone but her Uncle did. This one fact raised her spirits and she smiled sweetly if not sleepily. "It'll rain today." She murmured to herself before standing up and stretching out her back as she rolled from the heels of her feet up to the tips of her toes, slowly rolling back down,

She needed to use her time to the fullest; after all, according the the letter that sat on the coffee table,

 _It was only borrowed time._

Even so, she went to the bathroom and opened the door, flicking on the light. The mirror had been covered with a large, black curtain, and she absently passed by it to lean into the bathtub and began fiddling with the spout and dial before the water came on.

She took off the ratty old t-shirt, three sizes too big for her, and lovingly folded it before setting it on the counter. Holding a hand under the water to test the temperature, she slipped in and stood there for a while as the hot water ran down her face and soaked her from head to toe in a cleansing and steaming spray. It eased the soreness of her muscles and her pained heart.

And as she closed her eyes, she hopes it would take her more negative emotions down the drain with the dirt and grime.

Still, she poured the singular bottle of bodywash she had- a combination of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash- on a towel and rubbed herself down. When the water rinsed it all off, she stepped back and out of it's loving and protective spray, lathering her long locks with the same thing and massaged it into her scalp in slow, soothing circles to encourage the growth of her hair.

 _Zamirah, you have such beautiful hair. It dances with fire in the sun; almost like it's capturing the sunlight._ She remembered Kalim telling her when she was a child and she smiled happily still at the old memory,

 _Oh...my child. What have they done to you, my dear sweet child?_ Followed his sorrowful voice when he had found her that night before acting quickly and smuggling her out.

Of her father's home. Of her village. Of their city. Of their country. Of their Homeland.

But really- was it that bad? She thought it over as she rinsed her hair before turning off the water and stepping out from the shower and tub unit against the wall, grabbing the towel from the rickety towel rack and drying herself off as she hummed the negativity away and tied her hair up in a ponytail to keep it out of her way as she did chores.

 _On the other side of Gotham City, however, Bane was also getting out of the bathroom from a morning shower, wrapping the towel loosely around his neck while he walked to the king-sized bed in the middle of the wall to his right; a woman lying wrapped up in the sheets._ Her hair was dark and sprawled against the white pillows and he stood beside the bed looking down at her.

Another warm body to keep him warm. Another prejudice night of 'throes of passion' when he could barely stomach to look her in the face. Or any of the other woman who willingly came to his bed for that matter.

He couldn't look at them when he was fucking them, he could barely look at them in general; or rather, their eyes. The eyes of women who walked the street were laced with lewdity and fear when they looked at him and he couldn't stand it in the slightest. Bane slipped his hands into the pockets of his camouflage patterned cargo pants, combat boots already on as he continued to stare down at this one while she slept in the sheets.

The same sheet's he'd tell his men to burn. The same woman he picked up from the gutter and drop her off where he found her. What was her name? Where was she from?

 _Zamirah._ His mind whispered and with it, gave him the image of the woman Rafiki kept in his shop like some type of refugee.

Bane leaned over the woman, still half-asleep himself and thought that perhaps; just maybe- that the woman from Rafiki's shop was the one in his bed. But when he realized it wasn't her or the same face even, he quickly pulled away as if she gave off a foul odor and walked around, grabbing her clothes and stuffing them into the gucci/ prada/ louis vuttion/ what-the-fuck-ever handbag she brought with her.

He went back over to the sleeping woman and grabbed her arm, pulling her from the bed and quickly tying the sheets around her as she woke up, then shoved her handbag into her arms and pushed her out into the hallway outside his room, shutting the door behind her and locking it, "He-HEY! WHAT THE HELL!" She snarled from outside and he sighed at her noisiness before making his way over to the bed.

As he took off the sheets, he quietly noted that he never had sex with any woman face-to-face. While he tried to think of why not, his mind quickly retorted with a disgusted snort. He had never wanted to see them. Any of them. Sometimes if they were the kinkier type, they faced him but he usually turned them away somehow. He didn't want to see the faces of the women he didn't want to even be seen with during the day. Bane pulled a shirt from the closet and pulled it on, buttoning it up almost all the way before the fabric of the nice shirt absolutely refused to sopan the rest of his chest.

"Marvelous." He groaned sarcastically and took it off, tossing it into a pile of other shirts that did the same thing as he moved aside other shirts that were neatly pressed on nice wire hangers. The type you get from the laundry mat. And the type Bane was simply too busy to give a proper plastic or wood hanger like a normal person. Who cared? They were hangers. However, after pulling on three more shirts that refused to button as well, his tolerance was wearing dangerously thin. Thankfully, he found one of his newer shirts, a black and short-sleeved one and pulled it on- successfully- giving a slight uptake to his already rough morning.

 _My niece, Zamirah._ Rafiki's voice rang out in his head as he pulled on his chest plate,

Rafiki himself had blonde hair and hazel eyes while his niece had that silver-grey hair and steel blue eyes. There was no way that the woman was related to him, Bane decided; absolutely none. They didn't share any facial features or colors.

Bane wadded the sheets into a bad as he thought about these things silently to himself, before grabbing his coat, and stared at it a moment.

She had stared at it too- that woman, Zamirah, that he walked home. Like she hadn't seen leather and wool before. Granted, Bane hadn't either for a long while but it only made him wonder more about how deeply her roots were- and how much deeper the scars were. Rafiki was hostile and cold to her in his language but when Bane had walked her home to try and persuade her out of her motorcycle, she was the complete opposite.

And her laugh was nice on the ears. And her smile was a good memory to have too-

As he thought that, a image of the look on her face when Rafiki dismissed her after she had played a good hostess to him and his men, flickered across Bane's mind as he pulled on the coat. He never bothered with women and their feelings but- the look on her face reminded him too much of his own before the League of Shadows took him in. Dejected and hurt in her eyes as her face remained stoic and emotionless. His strong fingers flicked into fists as he gripped the sides of the coat tightly to burn out the image but only burned it into his mind. He could just kill Rafiki and get it over with; however, that would have to wait until he was done with Rafiki himself. Which would be once he got those damn bikes in.

Bane released his coat and left the room, walking past the woman in the hallway and to the elevator, getting in quickly before pressing and holding the button to close the doors- and thankfully, they closed right before the troublesome woman got into the elevator, leaving him alone to think. The pain in his mouth was excruciating today and he took a deep breath of the bitter-tasting anesthetic gas that his mask copiously supplied him with, as his mind drifted off.

If he did happen to get intimate with that woman, Zamirah, his mind drifted off at the possibilities. What would she smell like? Was her skin as soft as it looked? He wished that he didn't have the mask; that the accident in the PIt didn't happen to him. Then he'd be able to properly kiss her and tasted her instead of just hope and wish for it. Her hips were nice and so were her curves but he wasn't particularly concerned about those traits as much as he was about her eyes.

They were sharp and unrelenting- like a tropical storm. Hot and piercing, raging at a hundred miles an hour with just fierce, 100% untainted power. Power called in front all around her. They were so wild and untamed.

He had been trying to talk to her to get a better grasp of her voice, but before walking her home the pain in his jaw was making it quite difficult- and her short answers weren't helping. However, afterwards it was easier to hear her. It came out like caramel and the thought of her whispering things to him was arousing to say the least; but he had much more self control than that.

But when he thought about it, today he wasn't busy so he had time to go and see her- plus his eidetic memory made it easier on him as to where she lived and how to get there. And it wasn't hard to find a lioness in a concrete jungle- especially with those three streaks of color in her hair.

That's what she was- a lioness. She stood up to him right off the bat without an ounce of hesitation about her motorcycle like it was her child. But he still said he'd see her today so visiting her at her apartment complex wouldn't be too odd.

As the elevator descended smoothly to the lobby, he walked forward, some of his mercenaries looking up at him, "Get the car." They left to do so as he stood there for a long moment before looking up at the sky. It looked like rain so he glanced around for an Umbrella, spotting one just lying on the reception desk next to a clerk. "You don't mind do you?" He asked as he took the umbrella and the clerk jolted in surprise,

"N-No, please- Go right ahead!" They said and Bane nodded, walking off with the umbrella in tow as the car pulled up,

"Let's go and visit Rafiki." He said simply and the mercenary driving the van pulled away from the curb as Bane gazed out the window.

 _However, parallel to those two's mornings, perhaps around the same time each person was waking up- so was Rafiki at his own uptown loft that he had been pacing back and forth over a plush persian rug before a wall of windows that gave a beautiful skyline-view._

A view he had paid for by embezzling funds from things he really shouldn't be- like Bane paying for unregistered bikes to be brought into Gotham City for whatever plan he had.

Rafiki was very simply, blitzed the fuck out of his little mind, however crude the phrase may be. He had chain smoked 10 packs of his usual substitute in his nerve-wrecked state and done a few lines of a mind-altering drug we all commonly know as 'cocaine'. The day was fresh, the coffee from his stainless steel and automatically pre-set coffee maker was being steadily poured into the coffee pot, and Rafiki was running his shaking hands through his damp blonde hair.

He hadn't slept in 18 hours before he had chain smoked his way through a carton of Marlboros. Which he had done and tossed the last pack away in a disgruntled and unsatisfied manner as the burn of the tobacco against his throat and the taste of ash upon his tongue did little to ease his borderline delusional state. And then he promptly cut himself a fine-ground breakfast upon a mirror which he inhales through a tightly rolled up 20 dollar bill, and looked to the ceiling as if the straight-shot line of white dust would give him the answers in the smooth white ceiling of his apartment.

But it didn't.

Rafiki had already put out the hit on the woman he had smuggled into the City and he paced back and forth as he tried to think of a way to get her to the shop. He had given her the day off; mistake one. Kalim hadn't supplied him with a cellphone or way to contact the Unwanted; mistake two. The Unwanted needed to be at the garage shop by noon; mistake three.

If he asked Kalim the phone number for her shit hole apartment complex, then Kalim would eventually connects the dots. And Rafiki didn't want to just show up at her house- that would make it look too suspicious as to why he didn't just give her a ride to the shop.

Luckily, his phone vibrated on the glass coffee table where his mirror and breakfast laid not too far off and he went over to it. The Caller ID read the name of some apartment complex and he sniffed heavily before picking up the phone and answering it in the best "normal" voice he could muster at that point in time- "Hello?"

" _Um, Rafiki?"_ It was the voice of the Unwanted and Rafiki blinked in surprise, " _I still have the key to the shop and I was wondering if I could go and work on my bike?"_

As Rafiki's mind tumbled and tossed how wonderful of a coincidence it was and how brilliant a set up it would be, he quickly answered, "Sure! You know what? Why don't you take a whole hour? Come around noon!" Rafiki said quickly and the Unwanted readily agreed before he hung up and let out a cheerful yell as if his favorite sports team had won a field goal after several rough starts.

It was all going to go according to plan- at this point in time, both Bane and Zamirah held plans to make their own separate ways to the auto garage while Rafiki obliviously jumped up and down with joy. Pleased that the Unwanted would finally be killed somewhat soon- if only it had been sooner.

Because if an 'accident' happened at his shop while rafiki wasn't there, then he could delay passing on the knowledge to his brother Kalim; a scenario in which he still continued to reap what money Kalim tossed him and didn't put directly in the account set up in her name, and where their tribe would be finally rid of the creature in a woman's skin.

But the only thing more priceless than her death? Would be the look on his brother's face when Rafiki told Kalim that it was he who had killed her.


	7. Tempest

Yours Truly

Chapter 6- Tempest

With a final and matter-of-fact action of the opposite side of a dress being hung up on a clothesline in her kitchen with a clothes spin, Zamirah had finally finished all of her chores for the morning. With pride in her work and her diligence, she smiled as she put her balled fists in the air and said triumphantly, "Just in time!"

In an enlightened mood, Zamirah smiled as she picked up the strainer from the right side of the sink and shook it free of water before putting it in the dish drain. The left side of the sink she had plugged and filled with tide and a bit of Downy, to scrub the clothes clean by hand, before putting them in the strainer on the right side to get most of the water out from them without touching the sink.

There was a small 'laundry room' on the basement floor but it was dark and damp and she was too unnerved by the one-door and no windows layout to use it. So she cleaned her clothes as best as she could in the sink and let them hang in the kitchen where the light filtered in the most.

She walked out of the kitchen and went to the coffee table, picking up her keys to the apartment before leaving and locking up, merrily making her way down the gloomy halls of off-yellow and fading paint.

Zamirah was excited that Rafiki was letting her use the garage to work on Mirage which was odd but she wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. As she descended down the staircase, she noticed her landlord walking in from the front door and she smiled, "Mr. Johnson!" She said and the old man looked up and gave her a gaping smile in return, "Thank you very much for letting me use your phone to call my Uncle. I appreciate it very much." she said as she came to stop in front of him and he nodded, "Is there anything I could do for you in return?"

"Might want to think of getting a cell phone." He said and she blinked absently, "Maybe one like this." As he said that, he pulled out a smartphone from his pocket and showed it to her and she stared at it. It was similar to Rafiki's but different and she gave him a kind smile.

"You are very right, but I am afraid I will not have much use for it." She answered a bit sadly and waved to him as she passed him by before exiting the building and beginning her short journey to the garage.

It didn't seem beneficial to have a 'cellphone' to Zamirah. She knew only Rafiki and Kalim, and they would be her only two contacts. No use having such a smart device for so little use. Obviously Kalim needed it for work. Rafiki used it for work too and when she had caught a glimpse of Bane using his the day before- well, she put him in the same category, though his was much thicker and smaller. It looked like a small grenade rather than a phone.

She produced the key for the garage from her jeans pocket and unlocked the door when she arrived to it, walking in and looked around for the begrudging glare from Rafiki. But he wasn't in the main part of the garage. "Rafiki?" Her voice reached out as she locked the door behind her and turned the lights on, hoping he was just sitting in the dark somewhere.

But he wasn't.

As she wandered around to the break room and looked in, he wasn't around in there either. Or the parts room. Of the spare room off to the side. She had the worst feeling about his vacancy at his own shop before she glanced up at one of the large, digital clocks upon the garage walls. In distinctive red print against a black background, the time read '12:00 am'. "He must have left early for lunch." Zamirah murmured to herself before going to the parts room where Mirage patiently waited- and two other bikes did too.

They were something that her Uncle often referred to as 'chimeras'- motorcycles or dirt bikes with no specific make or model as they held bits and pieces from different bikes all together. An engine from a Yamaha, an exhaust pipe from a Harley, a transmission from a Ninja. Thought he had taught her how to properly work on them, when she questioned why people would do such a thing he also gave to her that answer; it was a common technique amongst criminals, to throw the justice system off their tracks. The various and mismatched parts made it hard for police to identify exactly what type of bike it was and trace it back to an owner.

She walked towards them and looked them over, thinking that perhaps a customer had left them with Rafiki- but he didn't specialize in motorcycles. And upon closer inspection, she noticed that the serial numbers normally etched into the parts had been filed away. Zamirah pulled away from them quickly as if they had burned her and she turned her attention back to Mirage, taking her bike and rolling it to the center of the garage.

She went to one of the garage doors and leaned down, pulling out the locks that slid into the walls to keep it in place before calmly walking over to the sliver of wall between the two huge garage doors. On it, resided the control for the garage doors- simple enough for Zamirah to understand. Four buttons. On the top were the first two which red 'Door 1' and 'Door 2'- the later was the one she pressed. Beneath it were two even simpler buttons- an up arrow that was green and a down arrow that was red. She put her finger on the up arrow and a short buzzer went off to alert customers and workers alike that the door was opening.

With a tired groan the heavy door slowly began to ascend towards the ceiling in all it's heavy mass higher and higher at her gentle command. When it was about 3/4ths of the way open, Zamirah pulled her hand away and walked over to the parts room, going in and looking around for the tool box that Rafiki was letting her use. When she found it under the work bench, tucked neatly away, she kneeled down and pulled it towards her, before wrapping her hand around the cold metal handle and carrying the red metal box towards her motorcycle. She set it down next to Mirage before going over to the other side of the shop where a rolling tray was and rolled it over towards the two-wheeled vehicle, transferring the tool box to sit on top of the tray and opened it up without a second thought.

As she pulled out a few tools, that's when the small handful of thugs came in from the open garage door. She noticed them in the gleaming reflection off her toolbox and moved towards her bike as they steadily moved closer with the swagger of their below-the-boxer-belted pants. "I'm sorry, we're closed." She said with an apologetic smile as a van silently pulled up to the curb just outside the garage on its north, while the wall of garage doors was on it's west wall.

"Just want to ask some questions." One of them said smoothly and Zamirah immediately had a bad feeling about the situation. "So, uh… here all alone then?"

"The mechanic will be back around 1." She said politely as she knelt down and took notice of their appearance under the guise of tightening up a bolt. With a soft sigh she pretended she had gotten too big of a wrench and got up, going back to the tool box and picked up another one that she had set out-

In the reflection of the red metal of the toolbox, she saw the front runner of the group of men pull a gun from the small of his back and her heart flickered in alarm. Her mind reminded her that there was a back door through the rarely-used side room between the break room and the parts room. But from the looks of it, there were five of them and only one of her. "Not here for him, miss." The Man said and added as the gun was cocked, "Here for you."

What the reflection didn't show, however, was Bane fixing his coat as he and a couple of his mercenaries walked away from their van to haggle Rafiki about the bikes again, whether or not the woman was there. And Bane noticed the open garage door before he noticed the front door with its sign turned to 'closed'. He also noticed the member closest to the door had the indentation of what looked to be a gun tucked in the backside of his shirt; sandwiched in the characteristic style, between a wife-beater and his sagging pants, of a street thug. He held up a hand signal to the men slightly trailing behind him and they pulled their own weapons, moving to scout ahead as the leader of them and Zamirah's voices continued, "Have you played baseball before?" She asked casually as she slowly closed the lid of the tool box and locked it while the thug scoffed,

"Yeah. Why?" The thug replied and she nodded,

"Good. Then you know how to catch!" She said and at the last word, she emphasized it louder by tossing the toolbox at him. An easy feat to do for someone who had spent most of her life hauling heavy car parts to and from; but for someone without that experience? Not so easy. As the toolbox hit the man in the upper chest, he let off a few shots as he fell back, all of which bit into the ceiling of the shop;

"Get that bitch!" The thug yelled as Zamirah ran for the back exit, while Bane's men covered the corners of the garage as they swiftly moved into the establishment in a rigid and organized formation that was uncommon for men of their caliber.

Mistakenly thinking that the shots were fired at them, the mercenaries opened fire on the three thugs who returned the gunfire unsuccessfully, the dead men crippling to the floor. In the cover fire, Bane made his way in the same direction as the woman did along with the other two thugs. In his wake, the mercenaries put a bullet in the street thugs' heads to ensure their permanent states. Running down an alleyway, she turned and lost them amid the sprawling alleyways and backstreets before ducking behind a restaurant trash can in a dead end.

It wasn't the first time for this type of situation; but it was the first time guns were involved.

And it scared her.

She wasn't unfamiliar with weapons; they had been common in her homeland but their use was often a last resort in their traditional customs' eyes'. They had been used on others and often she was forced to watch with a grim and regretful Kalim next to her; his hand on her shoulder and a gentle squeeze to assure her it was real and he was there. But he wasn't here now and Zamirah was clenching her teeth to keep quiet as she heard footsteps.

"I saw her run down here I think!" One of the thugs yelled and turned the corner into the alley, his friend behind him panting, "He didn't tell us she'd throw a fucking toolbox!"

"Why don't we just rape her before we kill her? He didn't say we couldn't, right?" His friend retorted and Zamirah didn't understand the meaning of 'rape' but took it as the sinister act for which it sounded while the two crept deeper into the alley. Their guns clicking as they readied them put place a kill shot in Zamirah while she hid.

Why? Why her? Was she such a bad person that this was the only answer for her homeland and her clan? That she be dead? Was she really that terrible an omen? That horrid an existence?

These were the thoughts that ran through her head.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are."

"Don't mind if I do." A more metallic voice spoke out from behind the men. They whipped around to turn their guns on him before the mercenary violently and defensively responded by punching them both in the stomachs. As their guns went off, Zamirah flinched in her hiding space and covered her ears while the thugs feebly tried to fight back against their more disciplined and ferocious attacker; to no avail.

Amid sloppy and loosely thrown punches with a half-assed attempt at a proper fighting stance, the larger male used their severe undermining of his agility against them by slipping into their large gaps in their defenses like water through a drifting fishing net. Precisely placed jabs and firm footing put the thugs at a disadvantage as they stumbled back and to a knee; one the larger back took a swift reaction to as he grabbed the closest one and snapped his neck. As the body hit the dirty alley's ground, the leftover thug tried to make a break for it- but was quickly snatched up and given the same fate. Afterwards, both bodies were dragged towards the trash can that Zamirah hid behind; and while it's lid was lifted and the two thugs were tossed in like the morning's garbage, she was silent and quiet.

Bane brushed his hands on the thug's clothes before dropping the lid and walked towards the side of the trash can, peeking over it to see the silvery hair and multi-colored strand of hair.


	8. Allies

Yours Truly

Chapter 7- Allies

Across many oceans and many seas, in a sturdy house just outside of their homeland, Kalim the Fifth sat at his solid oak dining room table. Staring at his iPhone 6 as it laid on the table just before him- silent as a tomb. His elbows on the table, fingers laced, staring at it with his tired hazel eyes, glossed with worry and concern.

From the exit way of the hall behind him, his wife stood there and stared at him. Her hands clasped and a gentle frown upon her beautiful face. His sons' worried eyes looking in his direction as their Father ran a tired hand through his long platinum blonde bangs to comb them back. An action he never before had started until their adopted sibling had been smuggled out months ago, it was now a sing they had come to realize with a type of anxiety their father had never portrayed before. The tension was unnoticeable to him and he thought he shouldered it alone, but his family was much more attuned to him than he thought.

After a long moment, his wife took a breath in a house that was as silent and morbid as the phone on the table, and strode forward to put a supportive hand on her husband's shoulder. It woke him from his forlorn mood and he looked up at her while he placed his own hand over hers. "Nothing?" She asked in English- the language preferred in their home. "Nothing at all?" Her own tone held vaguely veiled concern and worry. As a mother should for her children; blood or not, she was one of them.

After a long moment, he shook his head from side to side and stood up as she sniffed, finally at the edge of her breaking point,

"It's been months, Kalim! _Months_! Your good-for-nothing brother hasn't been any help either! He's probably doing something with the money we're sending- what if he killed her? _WHAT IF SHE'S DEAD!_?" Jalisha had been the strongest woman her husband had ever known- but the months of silence from the daughter they never had was killing her. She was blood mother to 2 men and 1 daughter; she knew nothing else but to worry for her pups. Kalim held her and rubbed her back as she sobbed a bit into his shirt. "Kalim, bring her home." She murmured into his soft cotton shirt and he rested his chin upon her head and stared into space past her form, "I can't take it."

"You know we can't do that." Kalim said after a while, his voice friendly but firm; strong where his wife faltered. "I'm sure Rafiki would tell us if something happened." But even as the words slipped past his lips, they were heavily doubted. He glanced at his two sons, both men and finishing college; tall and strong with the blessed traits of his lineage so that they would not suffer as their adoptive sister had. It was the one thing Kalim was thankful for- that and his American bride who was well-versed in their culture and their ancient language, and of her own mixed lineage to pass for one of them.

"I'm scared." Jalisha murmured into his shoulder and he stroked her hair, kissing her head,

"We all are, my love." Kalim assured her and continued to soothe her-

And then the phone rang. And their eyes fell on it.

The screen said 'Rafiki's Garage'.

And Kalim abandoned his wife and picked up the phone, "Hello?" He almost barked as he quickly answered it.

" _Kalim?"_ A female's voice asked and he blinked.

"Zamirah?" He replied and his wife and sons stood by, relief washing over them for a brief second- before it got worse as they overheard what bits and pieces they could from the head of their family. " _Calm down, child._ What do you mean they were shooting at you? Are you hurt?" Jalisha grabbed Kalim's arm with worry and he kissed her head as he listened to the other person on the line, "Don't go anywhere, I'm on the next flight out- No, you won't, you'll go home and you'll stay there. I'll be there as soon as I can!" He hung up and looked at his family as horror and worry coated their features.

"Someone… shot at my baby?" Jalisha said slowly and softly, mortified and Kalim looked to his wife, then his sons, and took a deep breath, "Kalim- _speak freely to me, my love._ " She said and put her hand gently on his face. The warmth eased his mind a bit and he turned his head and kissed her palm while he held her delicate hand to his features,

"She went to my brother's shop to work on her motorcycle- and some thugs came in and started shooting at her." He said and Jalisha closed her eyes against her tears. Her husband kissed her lovingly to turn her mind away- but she pulled away from him hastily and pushed a chair from her path as she turned upon her husband so quickly her hair spun on the air. Hellfire dancing in her steel-blue eyes.

" _They said they would not!"_ Jalisha snapped angrily and her feelings were reflected in their sons' body language as they stiffened and tensed, clenching their fists and teeth against this newly revealed information.

" _We know them to be false."_ Kalim answered in their foreign language, but took his wife by the upper arms, staring deep into her firey eyes before hugging her tightly; and she hugged back just as tight. Gripping handfuls of his shirt as she clung to him. They both knew what had to be done. For everyone's sake and sanity; and for their unsung daughter's as well.

"Go to her." Jalisha bid, looking up at her husband, "I will take care of everything here." She assured and he kissed her again, grateful and thankful he had chose such an understanding woman as his wife before pulling away,

"I…" The deep voice of their eldest son, Kalim the Sixth, rang out and drew his parent's attention, "I will call my school and make arrangements for the shop." Gratitude washed over his father's features and his eldest's eyes hardened with determination.

"I'll stay with mom." Their second son, Malik, voiced firmly as he pushed up his slim black-frame bifocal glasses, "Phone calls would be appreciated." Malik said matter-of-factually; always the more serious and studious between his two sons. Kalim pulled his whole family into a hug, before running out the door.

He needed to make the next plane to Gotham City.

* * *

"Only these two?" The deep voice of Bane asked as the larger man looked over the two unmarked bikes that had came in, Zamirah standing in the doorway. She didn't dare go any closer to them. He looked at her for her answer, wearing some-sort of harness over a black shirt that barely seemed to have any sleeves past the strong and taut biceps arms he had. She wasn't focused on that though- "Zamirah." It was that. The way he said her name; that she was trying to decipher as she looked up at him.

"Yes." She said as she met his gaze, "I can… check the manifest." Zamirah informed him and turned to walk off and do so, Bane walking behind her as she went to the computer, shouldering the heavy wool and soft-leather coat he wore. When he had found her, was about the same time it had started to rain and he shrugged off his coat in a smooth and precise movement before pulling it about her.

As she got to the desk and hovered her hands over the keyboard, she realized she was shaking- but that wouldn't stop her from carrying out what she had told Bane while he same up to the desk. "But if they're illegal, they wouldn't be listed." Bane said to continue the conversation, "How would you find out?"

"By the manifest." She said simply as she pulled up the digital copy of the last delivery manifest and turned the screen to show him as he leaned on the desk, "They have to write accordingly how many miles they traveled for the delivery so they can get paid. And when they get here, I register their speedometer. They need to match... but they came when I wasn't here-" She pointed to the screen, "Right there." Bane looked the screen over as she pulled back to put distance between them,

"They don't match." He said simply and she nodded typing away on the computer and pulling up a page of the manifest listing the stops. Then highlighted an area that said 'break'. "And that is where they were picked up?"

"Yes, but I don't see any other detours. That missing 15 miles is the difference." Zamirah confirmed, "So that's where your Chimeras came from. It doesn't list how many though. But I have today off, so there might be another shipment tonight." Zamirah said and pulled her hands away, clasping them beneath the desk to hide her shaking and not bother the mercenary with her presence anymore. "Your Chimeras might be there." Bane nodded as he looked at the other few mercenaries that stood around- ones who had disposed of the dead bodies, but there was still blood on the epoxied floors, slowly creeping into the meetings of the large slabs of sleek cement. "Do you… want your coat back?" She asked him and Bane looked back to her then to the windows, drawing her gaze too.

Rain was pattering softly outside as a rumble of thunder echoed over the garage and through it's metal facilities. As a boom echoed above them, she flinched- thankfully, none of the mercenaries nor their master saw it as he turned his gaze back to her. "Keep it for now." He said and she nodded, averting her eyes as he walked around to his men who stood; awaiting orders. "Clean up." Bane said to them with a gesture to the not-so-dearly departed and went back over to Zamirah as the men went about the garage to grab the hose and shop towels to clean up the mess. She stared out one of the windows and watched as the rain gradually intensified, wondering what had happened to make things come to this point.

She was aware what had happened, she had been there of course, but she was trying to figure out something she couldn't pinpoint- why. Had it just been a bad happenstance? A coincidence? Were those thugs here to rob; or were they here for Rafiki? They found her and qualified her to take whatever they had planned for him? Or was it the Elders back in the Homeland, who had found her and decided that, judgement pending or not, she needed to be 'dealt with'? The thoughts and possibilities were too much but when Bane spoke to her again he had most of her attention for his question that caught her off-guard; " _Where is Rafiki?"_ The thick and metallic words resonating with the taste of her native tongue, brought one solid answer from her,

" _I don't know."_ She answered in the same language that he had asked her in, and she tried to think through the fog of uncertainties in her head, " _He was not here when I got here, but it was noon- He usually goes to lunch."_ Bane tapped on the desk when she had finished, before pointing to the open garage door,

"And the door?" He asked and Zamirah's reply of how she had opened it when she arrived prompted another probing question, "Were they here when you got here?"

"No." She answered and thought about the events, step by step, "I… got Mirage from the side room, saw the Chimeras, then got the tool box and set up to work on Mirage- and they came in from the garage door…"

' _We're not looking for him. We're here for you.'_

Zamirah put a hand to her head for a moment, taking it all in. It was troublesome to be shuffled from one place to another and it was tiring. Bane turned from her and pulled out his cellphone and she tried to calm herself down as Bane began to dial to make a call-

Before Rafiki came in.

" _Rafiki, the man of the hour."_ Bane said dangerously in their native language once more and the mechanic gulped nervously, as Zamirah looked up to see her uncle. Bane walking over towards him. "Let's have a talk." He said and looked back to his men, one of them closing the garage door while the others blocked off Rafiki's escape routes, and Bane selected one of them at pure random, "Take her to her residence and wait." She blinked in confusion but the man went over to her anyway as Bane wrapped an arm around Rafiki's shoulders, not paying her any mind as she was lead from the garage behind him, into the waiting van they had arrived in which obediently sat at the curb, and helped her in so she could be driven her towards her complex as she numbly sat in the back. "You have some explaining to do, Rafi." Bane said in a dangerous purr to the younger male as the door was shut behind her.

The rain increased in heaviness as the door was shut and the man sent with her vanished from her view. The pattering of the rain against the windows and the vehicle itself calmed her nerves as best as they could despite her unease of being alone with strangers. As the rainfall increased, so did the chilly winds it brought as the driver opened the door to get in. A gust came in and reached her, making her instinctively pull the coat around her to protect herself against the sudden cold. The soft leather was a great wind-breaker and the warmed wool brought with it the strange smell of something trapped in its fibers.

It was something bold. Something that reminded her of danger, but deep under it there was some sort of vaguely sweet undertone. A strange scent for an even stranger man; but oddly enough, it was… calming.

"Hm. That's no good." The man driving voiced and she looked up before liking out of the window.

As the rain poured down, the street lights hazily illuminated the slums where she lived. And weakly highlighted the man's concerns. Upon the porch of the apartment complex, were several more thugs in the attire of the ones who had came to the shop today. The van was slowly being driven down the street as the driver produced a cellphone and called someone while she looked between a tighter ring of the thugs and recoiled.

The tighter ring had a woman in their midst- and some of them had their pants down, pulling at her. "Yeah, they're here and taking someone in the meantime. Alright." The driver said as Zamirah looked away while the driver hung up, accelerating gradually and guiding the van from the complex, from the thugs, and from their activities.

Panic flickered across her eyes and she looked up and caught the driver's chocolate brown eyes in the rear view mirror. "Don't worry, we're heading to your new home where you'll be safe." He said as he casually and calmly turned on the vehicle's windshield wipers.

Leaving the woman in the back to uneasily wonder the possibilities of what he meant.


	9. Plot

A/N: I've always seen Bane as that sort of 'Thug in the streets, Gentleman in the sheets' kind of guy. Even if you watch the movie he comes from, he's never outwardly inpolite first. When he attacks the Stock Market Exchange, he doesn't attack until provoked by the rude female guard, and when he takes his motorcycle helmet back, he does say thank you. I'm like 'wow, for a villain, he's pretty civil.'

* * *

Yours truly

Chapter 8- Plot

Zamirah sat on the couch in the strange new room, looking around as she took in the details of another new place.

The walls of the hotel suite were all a pale-almost- pearlescent grey aside from a couple green accent walls behind the bed and in the bathroom. The bed was perhaps the largest she'd ever seen and was elegantly made with a plush comforter of off-white and two huge pillows. In front of those pillows were two smaller pillows of cream and shimmering turquoise in a slanted checkered pattern.

Across from the bed with its high and tufted cream headboard to the southern wall, was a lavish off-white fireplace and a plasma TV hung above the mantel of it where several decorative trinkets resided. Just before it with enough distance to comfortably watch the television, was a long cream couch with a high back and curled arms on each end; it was soft but not as comfortable as the plush bed that she was slowly sinking into despite only sitting upon its corner.

She got up and paced the room and glanced at a small clock upon the night stand; silently noting she had been in this room for 2 hours already. The man who brought her had opened the door and told her to wait within, yet strangely denied her from leaving the room. Instead, he'd casually offer from the other side of the door, that she make herself at home. But she didn't feel at home at all.

There weren't bars on the windows but it was tense and nerve-wrecking to be in a room, alone, when she would rather not. She wondered if that was that the term 'held against your will meant as the door finally opened and she turned towards it, expecting the man who had chauffeured her; it wasn't

It was Bane.

Instantly she felt more wary of this situation that before, but when he turned from her and pushed the door shut and locked it, her heart skipped a beat- and not in the good way. However, he turned back to her and gestured to the bed for her to take a rest and she lowered herself smoothly into a seated position on the corner she had just stood from. "I apologize for the wait, however something's have… changed." He said as he sat on the arm of the couch lightly and put his hands in his lap, looking at her, "Before that, how are you feeling?"

She was surprised; because he had asked for her well-being and the only person who had ever done that was Kalim. "I…" She glanced at her hands, which still had very vague remnants of their shaking spell from a few hours ago, before looking back at Bane, "I will be fine, thank you for asking."

"You're welcome." He replied with a bit of amusement in his metallic and inhuman voice, "Did your Uncle call you and tell you your new living arrangements?" He asked and she shook her head, "Why not?" Now his voice had a touch of irritation,

"I do not have a cellphone." She admitted and he leaned back with a flicker of surprise across his brown eyes while she fidgeted with her hands. The near silence was suffocating.

"Why not?" He asked and Zamirah looked at him from her hands,

"I'm bad with technology." She lied. It was none of his business that she was an immigrant and for all she knew, he could be one of those cops that was bad- a "dirty cop"? And if she was taken to the authorities, she'd be deported back to her Homeland. That was something she couldn't have.

"I see; then I will do it." Bane said simply and she met his eyes, "You will be staying with me for a few days." Before she could open her mouth and ask him why, he added on, "As important collateral."

"Collateral?" She questioned softly and it took her a moment from the blindsiding admission from his serious tone. "For the missing Chimeras you need?" She asked and he nodded,

"Yes, until your Uncle's part of the bargain is done. You'll be staying under my care." Bane explained shortly, tapping a finger in the couch, "Tonight you'll sleep here, then tomorrow we will check to see if it is safe to return you home."

"And if it is not?" She questioned and he stood up,

"You'll stay here." It was a concrete statement and matter-of-fact, leaving no room for debate from the tone of his voice. Zamirah looked towards the couch, and was a bit relieved for it seemed much larger than she was. It would make a good bed, "Another thing-" He said and she looked back towards him, looking him in the eyes as he spoke. A force of habit; "While you are under my care, your Uncle has no say." Bane said firmly and she was confused as he held up his hand and presented a large finger for every partial sentence that followed thereafter. "Not about how you act. Not about how you dress. Not about who you talk to. Nothing. I want to be told should he do anything." He said firmly before going into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

As he relieved himself, she wondered inwardly what he possibly meant by underlining what her Uncle could and could not do. But… it felt like something Kalim would do. It was almost as if he was looking out for her, but as the door opened and the larger male washed his hands, Zamirah quickly shot down the thought. She was collateral- and he was just doing what he thought was necessary, she supposed. "Have you eaten?" He questioned and she shook her head before glancing at him, "Your Uncle mentioned you came to the country recently. Have you had milkshakes since you got here?" She looked at him, bewildered.

"What is a milkshake?" She answered and he chuckled. A throaty and dark sound as he dried his hands on a towel,

"Come." He said and gestured for her to follow him as he grabbed the coat she had left on the back of the couch, and pulled it on. Bane went to a small closet in the room to the left of the door and opened it, pulling down another leather jacket. A more fitted style, and handed it to Zamirah as she meekly walked over to him, "Here." She took the offered jacket and pulled it on. It was also wool-lined, holding his musk and he opened the door for her to go first.

She walked into the hallway as Bane shut the door behind them, leading her to the elevators as she struggled to keep up with his pace. "So, no cellphone, hm?" He asked and she nodded, "Why not?"

"I don't have many people to call. So there's not really a point." Zamirah said as they came up to the elevators and Bane pressed a button, opening the shiny metals doors and letting her enter first before following her in. He pressed another button and she twitched when the elevator began to move.

Bane chuckled and told her, "That was my first reaction too." She looked at him, a bit shocked at the casual and reassuring reveal. But there was no one around and she looked down in embarrassment. He made light conversation with her as the elevator continued down to the lobby and stopped smoothly to let them off. He picked up the umbrella he had carried with him for the day, drenched with rain water a bit, as a hummer rolled up to the curb. Some of his brethern returned from something or other and paused when they saw Bane heading towards him. One lingered and Bane made a gesture towards the car. Almost as if hypnotized, the lingering man got back into the driver's seat and started the car while Bane opened a door for her and let her in first, before getting into the backseat with her. "We're getting lunch, Armund. To Whack-A-Doos please."

Zamirah snorted t the name and he looked at her a moment. "Excuse me." After a moment Bane caught the driver's eyes in the mirror and leaned back against the seat he was in,

"Take us to In-N-Out." Bane said, the man nodding and guided the hummer away from the hotel curb as the larger man looked at Zamirah, "I'll get lunch, but in exchange you'll answer some questions of mine." Perhaps when it rolled off his tongue and hidden lips, it was a suggestion; but once it got through the metal mesh of the mask he wore, it sounded more like an order.

"Excuse me, but I told you all I knew about your Chimeras." She answered, "Rafiki barely tells me anything in the first place."

"I'm not interested in that right now." He said simply and her eyebrows turned into the strange off-balance manner of being confused. "I want to know about you."

She quickly looked away and out of the hummer's window to her right, trying to distract herself from him before he began to inquire. "There's no point. I'm just a foreigner on foreign soil." Zamirah said with a steely firmness, "Nothing about me can help you or whatever you're doing." She saw Bane adjust himself in his seat behind her in the reflection of the window, as rain fell with painful force. He turned his head from her back to look at the rear view mirror, as the vehicle pulled into a drive through. He ran a hand over his mask as he rolled the window down.

" _Good afternoon and welcome to In-N-Out, may I take your order?"_ A cheery voice said and Bane nodded slightly,

"2 chocolate milkshakes, 2 strawberry, and 2 vanilla. All milkshakes, all larges." Bane said, giving the drive a moment to say his order while the larger man looked at Zamirah's back, before adding on, "Two plain hamburgers, one large fry, one hamburger with everything, and the 3; plain."

" _ALL RIGHT! Is everything correct on your screen?"_ Bane glanced it over before confirming it, " _Okey-dokey, we'll see you at the window!"_

Zamirah, on the other hand, quietly hoped everything would be over and she could just go home and get out of another awkward encounter with the masked man.


	10. ACT I

Yours Truly

Chapter 9- ACT I

As they returned to the room, Bane and Zamirah held intent to comfortably take up residence on the couch before the television on the mantle, but it was quickly spoiled by the others coming in. A couple of the men coming into the room and moving the furniture around and brought in a folding table for them to eat on. Zamirah ducked and weaved out of the way until she tripped. She gently landed on the couch with a bit of a squeak in surprise, and Bane looked over as two of the mercenaries lifted one end of the couch each, and move it with her on it. He watched until they set it down and Zamirah sat up unharmed. When he finished with the man he was talking to, over off to the left side of the room near the closet, he waved the man off and the other men left the room. "Are you alright?" Bane asked and she nodded,

"I'm fine." She confirmed and he nodded, a plush chair from the left side of the room had been moved over so that it sat across from the couch and the table. Bane took up residence in it as he swiped up one of the milkshakes while Zamirah looked at the odd-paper wrapped food. It just seemed- wasteful. However, he nudged the food over towards her before reclining back in the chair and putting the end of the straw into one of the holes in his mask,

" _You unwrap it and eat it."_ He told her in her own language, to calm her nerves but it helped very little as she took one of the white-paper wrapped hamburgers before another boom of thunder made her jump. " _You're safe."_ Bane informed her reassuringly and she kept her gaze on the still-bundled hamburger; too ashamed to meet his own eyes. "So, I've held up my end of the bargain; it's time you hold yours." Zamirah turned the hamburger over in her hands before finding where to unwrap it and doing so to reveal the steaming and waiting hamburger.

"I don't know what to say." She said simply as it was that simple, "People don't usually talk to me how you do." When she said this, Bane raised a quizitive eyebrow while she looked down at the hamburger. She was scared to take a bite despite the encouragement his men had given her about the benefits and deliciousness of the food item in her hands, in the elevator to this floor.

"And how do I talk to you?" Bane asked as he finished his milkshake and crumbled the container in his hand with a quick flex of his hand. He placed it in a now empty carry-out bag and picked up another one, not caring for the flavor as he once more put the straw end into one of the holes in his strange mask. After a few sips his eyes flickered to meet hers, "Do I insult you?"

Another surprising moment for Zamirah; when he asked her opinion. A relished opportunity but an extremely rare one. It took her a few moments to recover, "No; not at all. People just... don't... talk... to me." It was true and false. When she _was_ talked to, it was usually for them to call her their despicable names and slurs for her.

"I find that hard to believe." The metallic voice of her companion for the evening countered, "You're a beautiful woman, obviously men talk to you."

Zamirah shook her head in dismissal before taking a bit of the hamburger and her eyes widened. It was juicy and flavorful and indescribable against anything Zamira had ever had. Bane paused in his own dining to chuckle throatily as she looked at him then the burger in wonder and took another cautious bite. Then another and another until the sandwich was gone and left her hungry still. But she was still avoiding answering him and they both knew it; however, Zamirah was doing it because she wanted his words to roll about in her head a moment longer. "My Father, my brothers, my Uncle, and you." She said and he paused in his liquid sustenance intake, "Those are...the only men who've talked to me in my life."

"Why not?" Bane questioned and she looked down, "Those other burgers are for you, by the way. And this one." He added on and pushed one of the four remaining milkshakes towards her as he crushed the finished one in his hand, before depositing it into the trash bag. Then picked up another and reclined back again, "What about friends?"

"Just my brothers and my Father." Zamirah answered quietly as she tried to even think if they could be considered friends. "They don't... like me back home." She took one of the larger burgers and unwrapped it, taking slower bites because of its larger size. Still the same delicious and mouth-watering delight as she took her time to savor this one while he continued to probe,

"Do they talk to you where you're from, the way that your Uncle does?" His question was slow and evenly paced, even if not conveniently placed. However, she hadn't expected it; any of it. Not this conversation, not this evening, not the food. It was all surprising and new; thrilling and nerve wracking, but she wasn't scared. She felt something she hadn't felt in the months since she had gotten to Gotham. Something she thought had been left behind back in her Homeland, even if it was just a glimmer of the feeling-

'Comfortable'. Yes. That was it. She felt gradually more comfortable as she set her nerves aside.

So her answer following was only extracted with a smaller degree of painful extraction as she admitted quietly, "Worse." She nudged one of the burgers towards him and he chuckled, "You haven't… oh…" She said quietly said and he pushed it back towards her, "You can't take the mask off?"

After another long sip of his milkshake, he voiced, "When I shower, yes, but otherwise no." Zamirah nodded, "Has your Uncle talked to you about anything other than what I've overheard?" Bane asked and she shook her head in a 'no'. "I think we should be on first name basis." Her eyes flickered up to meet his, "We'll be seeing each other quite often; So calling me 'Bane' will be fine." She nodded,

"So, what's going to happen for tomorrow?" She asked and Bane paused in drinking his milkshake, nudging the last three towards her; but they weren't where he attention was as he would like. She wanted to know how long she was going to be locked up in a room with him. "Those are yours." She said simply in regards to the strange colored liquid/solid substances that he was more than eager to guzzle down.

"I got these three for you. If you don't like any of them, then I will finish them for you." Bane informed her and she pulled the three over to her and lifted the lid to peek inside. The substance was pink in collar and she took a very timid sip as a knock came from the door while she replaced the lid. "Come in." The door was opened and another mercenary came in- but he was a regular. Everytime she had seen Bane, she had seen this particular man as well; perhaps he was the second-in-command.

He walked over and handed Bane a cellphone, "The truck came in at the Garage. I put a few men at the complex to patrol." He informed the larger man who nodded and offered the cellphone to Zamirah. She stared at it a long moment and only took it after he grunted towards her; but even that was reluctant. "What do you want to do?" The man asked and Bane reclined back in the chair as Zamirah tenderly set the phone aside and began to work on drinking the next milkshake.

"Take her to the garage tomorrow, let her work her shift." Bane said as Zamirah got a slight taste of the milkshake- strawberries. She had never liked the flavor of the sweetly tart fruit. She set it on the table and slid it over to Bane, who deftly caught it and lifted it up to guide the straw into his mask again, "Take her home if it's safe; if not, bring her here."

"As much as I appreciate your… concern." Zamirah said, drawing the two mens' attention, "I don't have any clothes." The men looked at one another and Zamirah added on, "Maybe if I just went home-" "No." Bane's firm interjection wasn't just rude- it was an order- and one Zamirah saw no benefit in trying to get around.

She had no problem standing up to people; however, it wasn't a smart idea to be making rash decisions on a stranger's "home turf". "Find her some clothes, brother?" Bane requested and the man nodded, "Send someone later to come back and get her clothes." The man nodded and left the room as Bane fixed the straw into his mask and helped himself to the contents,

"What does that mean?" She questioned and he glanced at her, "For him to get my clothes?"

"They need to be washed, don't they?" Bane questioned and she nodded before he pointed to the cellphone, "That is yours." The words were once again direct and to the point, making her glance at the cell phone. It wasn't the touch-screen one that Rafiki had, but it was more similar to Bane's. One that would fit in her palm even if it was a bit bulky. He leaned over and picked it up, setting his shake down with his other hand to show her the phone and how he was operating it. "Press 1 and this green button, and it will call my phone. But if you press 2 and the green button, it will call your Uncle." He handed the phone to her and she gingerly took it once more and stared at it, "Press the red button to end the call. You'll get a charger for it later."

"Why are you doing this?" She asked him and he stopped a moment, "It's troublesome for you, isn't it? All of this for some Chimeras you've already gotten? You have no obligation to do any of these things; so why do you?" Bane leaned back in the plush arm chair and laced his fingers together,

"Your Uncle agreed to helping me before you came to Gotham; but he's hardly reliable." Bane said simply and she sighed,

"So… the collateral isn't _just_ about the Chimeras." She questioned and then her stomach dropped a bit at his response; a simple nod. There it was. The indicator that she had walked right into a trap. "I know he is difficult, but could you... _not_ kill him?" Bane raised an eyebrow at her question and she responded, "Perhaps he's not the best type of family; but he is my family."

Bane didn't say anything as he grabbed the milkshake and drank from it, finishing it before crushing it and putting it in the trash bag before he took another long moment to think about his answer. The words came slow and paced when he did answer; "I won't make promises, but I will keep that in mind."

She relaxed a bit, "I appreciate that." She looked at the cell phone, pressing the two buttons he had instructed her to press- and something started ringing. Bane paused and moved his left hand to one of the left pockets on his cargo pants, pulling it open from the snap-buttons that held it closed and pulled out his own cell phone. He showed it to her as it continued to vibrate and ring, and it displayed her name on the small green screen. 'Zamirah'. She then pressed the red button to end the call, and the phone stopped ringing and her name vanished from the screen. "So...What am I to do with this?"

"Call me and answer when I call you." Bane answered without missing a beat and added on logically, "I will be relying on you to help things stay on track in my favor." He gestured towards the bed as she finished off her milkshake. "You may have the bed tonight; I'll sleep on the couch. You may shower and change if you wish." She nodded and stood up, going over to the pile of clothes he had mentioned from earlier; all of which had been cleaned, pressed and folded neatly now and pulled one of the shirts out. It was long enough on him to be tucked into whatever pants he decided on, but hung down to her knees when she held it up against herself. She looked back at Bane who glanced at her, "Yes?"

"...Thank you for all of this." Zamirah told him and Bane nodded to her before she went off to the bathroom and shut the door behind her. By the time she had showered and left the bathroom, Bane had already cleaned up the table and left the remaining two cups of milkshakes on it's surface. The television on as he sat on the couch watching the news and looked her way, "What is that?"

"The news. Unless you have a preference?" Bane asked as she watched the television before shaking her head 'no'. "I see. Well, some clothes are being brought for you; perhaps you'd like to watch tv in the meantime?" It didn't seem like a bad idea to Zamirah but she pulled back the covers of the lush bed and sat down under them to watch from afar- blushing as she sunk deep into it's lush depths. Laying her back against the pillows and allowed herself to even get comfortable- even if it was just a passing opportunity. And waited.

Waited for the nice evening that had seemed like some sort of dream to come to it's usual place; a horrid and nightmarish ending. But it didn't.

Bane didn't pressure her to sit with him nor did he really leave the couch. He'd turn sideways and speak to her in the interlude between reports but it was nothing nasty or degrading or hurtful like she was used to. Just absent and mindless chatter and sharing of opinions. It was so nice to feel included. To feel like her family made her feel; like she was their equal, not beneath them.

And even for something so meager; it was a fantastic feeling. The type of feeling that made you feel like you could do anything.

She couldn't remember when but Zamirah fell asleep against the soft pillows behind her back at one point with the overwhelming comfort of the conversation and the warms gently generated by the pillows and sheets behind and around her. However, she did remember waking up to the sound of the door opening somewhere in the middle of the night and lying against something extremely warm and firm. When her eyes adjusted to some of the darkness, Zamirah saw figured moving towards the bed then hovering over it- and she tried to snuggle into the strange firmness a little more to try and shrink away as a hand reached for her.

"Don't touch her." A firm voice growled out from somewhere above her and the hand stopped then retracted entirely as the feeling of something wrapping around her crossed her hazy and sleepy senses. "You're safe." Zamirah relaxed against the strange firmness and slipped back into sleep for the night.


	11. ACT II

Yours Truly

Chapter 10- ACT II

 _Now, Reader, you've been patient. More so than most. And I take the time now, thank and applaud you. Though the journey may be slow and agonizing now, it has its purpose._

 _Because love stories come in so many, many forms._

 _Some are hurricanes; forceful and abrupt, powerful with a calmness surrounded only by the contents of its ferocity. Some are like flowers, taking time to grow before blossoming._

 _I would like to think this is one akin to fire._

 _Because fire starts with a spark; whether by accident or Grand Design. Sparks devour all around them to becoming roaring flames that know few boundaries._

 _Perhaps you do not wish to hear of these things, Reader, and I ask your patience and forgiveness; for these chapters have been the placing of a dry long upon an old ring of wet rocks. And now that we have our spark-_

 _Our fire will grow great, and vibrant with all colors of life, against the dark canvas._

 _So I humbly ask for your continued patience with me, as I fan these sparks to flame. Accelerator will come in time; but emotions and feelings are harder to convey to words than pictures._

 _And until my strength weakens and I can no longer carry on; I will continue this story of the strongest fire I ever knew._

The first things that Zamirah noticed the next morning were subtle and pleasant. The warm rays of sun that shimmied between the gap where the thick hotel curtains faltered to meet properly. Letting in the barest glimmer of warm light into the dark and almost pitch-blackness that was the hotel room where she slept. The soft and caressing cotton against her exposed skin that make her feel so light atop the buttery smooth flow of the pillowtop mattresses' seductive embrace. The plush of the comforters around her to keep her toasty and warm while they tried to entice her back into the thick fog of sleep. And the extremely warm and firm yet mysterious obstacle she snuggled closer to when the chill of too-cold a/c brushed up against her. From this strange object was something else that held her cradled close and made her feel safe.

The safest she had felt in a long, long time.

She smiled as she slowly opened her eyes and let the haze of a good night's slumber lift even more and looked to see what this strange object was; and found it to not be an object but a person. Specifically, the strange male who had instructed her to stay in his room the night before; Bane. The warmth came from his bare and ripped chest that rose up and down with shallow and relaxed breath, despite her left hand skimming over it in her delirium. And the strong object around her was none other than his equally bare arm. Zamirah sat up from the bed and looked at him to ensure it was real as her cheeks became heated. The comforter had fallen down to just above his waist, leaving the strong and sculpted torso brazenly nude- and something scandalously new to Zamirah as she covered her eyes. It was the most naked she had ever seen a man- even her Brothers and her Father never showed so much.

However, she was nervous that perhaps… while she was asleep… perhaps he had been 'intimate' with her. In the way lovers would or the way her adoptive Father and adoptive mother when she peeked through her fingers she noticed the barest whisper of some sort of cloth held by elastic band around his waist and she sighed a bit in relief; a sound easily overpowered by the metallic breaths of his breathing apparatus.

Zamirah sat there for a long moment and just watched him breathing, knowing full well it was not common practice to do so and not socially acceptable; but it was so new and so strange to her. She had never shared a bed with a man other than family before- many men in her homeland avoided her to the point where they would fall over crates and barrels to relieve themselves of her unwanted and disgusting presence. But not Bane. As she looked down at his arm, she still saw it remained wrapped around her waist as if to keep her close and keep her from harm. This whole scenario was the most contact she had ever had with any male and it was both exciting and unnerving. Though she wished to slither back into the warmth of the bed, she knew that the blazing warmth of her cheeks needed to be settled and she meticulously and quietly left the bed to not wake him, as she went to the bathroom. Her clothes, freshly cleaned and folded, awaited her on the bathroom counter as if by magic and she took great care to shut the door as quietly as possible.

It was hard to think clearly amid her hot cheeks and the things running through her head.

However the sound of a shower to help clear clear the turmoil in her mind sounded like quite the idea. And the chilling spray of a shower freshly turned on against her skin, only solidified her resolve about the idea. While she showered, she glanced at the ring of crumbled clothes that she had borrowed from Bane the night before to sleep in. What was she to do with them? Was it appropriate to take them home and wash them or did he wish for her to let whoever cleaned her own clothes, repeat the process on his own articles? Then another thought flickered across her mind.

Did this mean that he perhaps- favored her? In the way one would court their wife in her homeland?

Zamirah blushed again and slapped her cheeks to alleviate the thought out of her mind. It was infallible. No one was attracted to Zamirah; she was an abomination and unlovable. There was no reason for her to be thinking such things. She just needed to shower, and assist Bane because her Uncle had given the man doubts. Once Bane had gotten want he wanted, he would leave; as all men wanted and would do. That was that and she told herself not to spare another thought for the idea.

She turned the shower off and dried herself off with a towel before replacing the towel on the towel rack. After pulling on her clothes, she left the bathroom to find Bane sitting on the edge of the bed, legs parted, hands clasped and elbows on her knees. As if he had been waiting for her to exit and looked up at her while he sat up straight and placed his hands on his knees while his elbows swid back across his thighs towards his hips.

Power. Every motion, every move, every word exhuberated what she now realized she had felt but could not place. It was 'power'.

"Good morning, Zamirah." Every syllable was well contracted and well placed. As if each was carefully selected and scripted. And it unnerved her and… in a darker part of her… thrilled her a bit.

"Good morning, Bane." She responded and she could feel the change in the air of his mood shifting towards a more positive one. "I didn't mean to wake you-"

"No need to worry; You didn't." The mercenary assured her as he rose to his gargantuan height in a smooth motion and she tilted her head up so that her eyes would always meet his; as Kalim had told her to do. "I've already called ahead for someone to take you to your uncle's shop." He vocalized and offered her the cell phone he had given her yesterday. Zamirah took it and he placed his hands in the pockets of his black pants that he wore the night before, and she looked at the phone, "I will contact you in the evening."

"...If all things go well with whatever you are using the Chimeras for?" She questioned as she held onto the phone and he seemed amused by her question,

"They will." Bane voiced in an optimistic and matter-of-fact tone amid the grumble of the metallic echo his mask gave away. She could tell between the mask and him and he tilted his head a bit to the side, "I have arranged an escort for you to return home as well, should there be a chance to do so." She blinked in surprise.

"You said last night that I was going to be here for a few days." She vocalized and he righted his neck as she added, "Was that a lie?"

"No." He answered honestly, "Do you not wish to go home?"

There it was again. A gentle inquire for her opinion.

Why did he do that? It didn't matter to him- right? Zamirah looked away, "Perhaps when we meet next, you can tell me about where you're from?" The way Bane said it, it dared to sound like a question but with a statement's intent; and she nodded her agreement before quickly leaving the room and leaving the larger male behind.

The ride to the garage was unnatural and tense and though unnervingly hospitable, they were quick to leave once they had followed their orders through and leave Zamirah at the door of the Garage. She looked down at the chunky cellphone in her hand that Bane had given to her.

Press 1 for Bane. And Press 2 for Rafiki.

Zamirah tucked the phone away and walked into the garage not knowing what to expect since her abrupt leaving the day before. " _Welcome back, abomination_." The familiar and icy tone of her Uncle rang out in their native tongue, " _Finished kissing up to Bane already?_ " Rafiki hissed as he walked deeper into the building." _You have work to do, so get to it."_ Another order but she didn't particularly mind as she went about her daily duties in the Garage.

Had she taken a moment to turn on the tv, she would have seen the news. And had she seen the news, she would have heard the reporters babble on about the Stock Exchange Building being invaded by 'terrorists' and it's occupants held hostage. She would have seen the Chimeras her Uncle had important, be used to ferry the criminals out of the building and down the blocked roads, forcing Gotham City's Police Department to pursue. She would have seen The Batman pursue the criminals as quickly as the reporters and the cameras could keep up. And how many of them and their chimeras were captured.

But Zamirah saw none of this.

Instead, she smiled and watched the sunset give away to a cool night after her work was done, mentally noting the beautiful colors.

Rafiki put a cigarette to his lips and flicked his lighter to life, cupping the eager little flame until it had done it's job, before letting it rest as he inhaled the toxic chemicals. "The first puff is always the best." He voiced as he blew out the smoke into the air, "Work day's over, abomination." He alerted her but she knew it already even as the door to the shop opened. One of the Mercenaries who had been with Bane many times before, walked in and informed her that he had been assigned to escort her as Rafiki looked her way, " _Not finished whoring for their Leader?"_ Rafiki questioned in their tongue as she walked to leave the Garage as the mercenary held the door open for her; a dark sneer spreading over Rafiki's features as he voiced something that made her quickly vacate the premises.

" _Isn't that what got you in trouble before?"_

 _And so reader, I leave you with this note, and hope that it had been worth your patience and pray that you will stay a little longer, to listen to my tale.d_


	12. ACT III

Yours Truly

Chapter 12- ACT III

The whole ride back to her complex, Zamirah was having a terribly difficult time trying to think clearly. Her mind bogged by the strange oddity of these even stranger emotions beginning to fade into the foreground. Why? Why her?

Why now?

Why during this crucial time, had these things began to happen to her? Was she imagining it, was it even remotely as vivid as she translated it to? What if it was all some misunderstanding? Zamirah's brain had never hurt so much; and she had never needed to talk to her adoptive mother so badly. However, even with her mind muddied, when they pulled up to the complex and her escort let her out of the car, she smiled and thanked him. Just because she couldn't think properly about Bane, didn't mean she could have the audacity to be rude. She went up to her room as normal, and tried to think of how many days there were left until her judgement-

"Oh, young lady!" The familiar voice of her toothless-but-friendly Landlord rang in her ears as she entered the building and paused on the staircase while he came over to her. His room on the first floor. Zamirah smiled warmly at him, "You got mail today." Her heart stopped. "I know you don't usually take stuff like it- but someone left it at my door for you. There's no return address and I didn't see the sender, either." The man held out a tired hand with the parchment-colored envelope. Her name and address, written in dark red, on the middle of the envelope. And she took it with a smile and thanked him for being kind enough to keep it for her, before going up to her room, into her apartment, and shutting the door behind her.

And tossed the letter onto the coffee table and edged around her apartment, watching it suspiciously.

She pulled out her cell phone to call her Father; but then she remembered it was only Bane and Rafiki's numbers she could choose from. Zamirah would pace had it not been conditioned out of her by her Father- 'Nothing is solved by wearing the floor thin'. However, staring at the suspicious letter didn't help the situation nor resolve it, but the strange sound that began to fill her apartment distracted her as she looked around her apartment. The sound of strange music seemed to come from the cellphone in her hands and she stared at it; the small screen reading 'Bane'. And she stared at it a while before gradually pressing the little green button and put it to her ear, "Hello?"

" _Good Evening, Zamirah. Can you hear me?"_ The dark garble of the voice on the other end of the phone line was definitely Bane's- but she understood him clearly as she smiled and vocalized that she could, " _I'm finished for the day. I was informed you were dropped off at home, but I was wondering if I may come over?"_

"...'come over'?" Zamirah echoed quietly, not knowing what the phrase meant. She had never had friends other than her family in her Homeland, so there were no sleepovers or birthday parties or any event that would entail people coming to her home. "I...do not understand, Bane."

" _I am asking permission to come to your home."_ He clarified patiently and as her mind blanked upon the realization that he was once more, asking something of her; a shy smile played across her lips as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. But why? Why did he want to come over? " _...I want to see you, but I won't come if you don't want me to. I will respect your decision."_

"You may come over."

" _Understood. I will be there shortly then."_ There was a click as the line ended and she lowered the cell phone and looked at it, still smiling. Now, more than ever, she wished she could call her Father and tell him of the man who, not only asked her opinion but also asked her permission. Such a simple thing to everyone else, maybe, but it meant more than words could say to Zamirah and it meant more than she could ever depict or describe. She busied herself with moving about her small home and cleaning it up, the way her parents would before guests came over. However, even after cleaning up and making her bed, she couldn't seem to keep the smile on her face to disperse. She almost wanted to go into the bathroom and look in the mirror but decided against it. The last few attempt to look at herself had still made her horribly sick and she wanted to be fine when he came over.

Could you imagine?

A world where people actually cared what she thought. It was almost too good to even think of..

And the knock on the door brought her back to reality as she went over and looked through the peephole in the wood, hiding her smile and opening the door to the huge figure standing in the hallway. She moved aside and allowed Bane into her home and shut the door behind him, locking it as he looked around her apartment, "This is...nice." He voiced and held up the bag of food- the same restaurant from the night before, "I got you something on the way over." He vocalized as she walked behind him and he set the bag on the counter. Right next to the unopened envelope. And though she was hoping he didn't notice it and just looked past it; he didn't. "Mail from your country?" He inquired gently and Zamirah nodded as he pulled out a milkshake from the bag, "Will you tell me where you're from now?"

"...Altay, Mongolia." Zamirah answered as he turned ot her and offered her the milkshake which she gently took from him, "From a small village in the Altai Mountains."

"That makes sense." He answered and sat down on her couch, looking around as if looking for something; probably a television. Something her abode lacked among many other things. "Do they speak to you as your Uncle does?"

"No." Zamirah answered quietly, "Much, much worse." Bane's phone rang in his pocket, and though he took it out, he set it on the table. "Are you not… going to answer?"

"I'm spending time with you." Bane answered simply leaning back against the couch and sprawling his arms against the top of the couch, "I will call them later." She looked confused and questioned if the call were to be urgent and Bane waved her comment off, "I will deal with it later. Your safety has my attention tonight." Zamirah felt her neck and cheeks burn and turned from him to excuse herself for the bathroom. She ran her hands under some cold water and lightly patted her neck and forehead, wiping them off before going back into the rest of the apartment to see Bane holding the envelope. And she froze as he looked over the front, turning it this way and that- whether it was curiosity or maybe he knew the contents.

"Is… something wrong?" She called and Bane looked over at her past his shoulder before looking back at the letter,

"Curiosity won out; that's all." He confirmed and she walked over- he even handed it back to her,

"...I just got it today." Zamirah voiced and looked at it before walking around and setting it back on the coffee table, "I'm sorry." She voiced and Bane looked at her as she fidgeted, "I don't know… how to have a guest because I've never had a guest in my home before." He chuckled,

"That makes two of us." Bane voiced, "I thought I'd spend the night and tomorrow we'd go do something- like see a movie." Zamirah tilted her head to the side curiously and confused, "Have you seen a movie since you came here?"

"Came… here?" Zamirah echoed questioningly and very slow as if she didn't understand and he added, "The movie Theater, yes." "Oh, no I haven't."

"I'll take you then." Bane told her and she looked away nervously, "Do you mind spending the day with me?" Zamirah moved some of her hair behind her ear and looked at him,

"I don't mind… as long as there aren't guns." He laughed. It started as a deep chuckle and grew and grew until he was coughing but the skin around his eyes crinkled. In the same way that her Father's would when he laughed. And Bane asked if it was a joke and she nodded shyly and he continued to laugh.

He was laughing. Because of her joke.

Not because of her. Because her joke was funny.

And she smiled softly, even if it made her nervous.

Because she thought that maybe; just maybe. He wasn't another guy who would come around and befriend her just to destroy her, like her Real Father did.

And for the evening, she forgot all about the envelope on the table that should have gotten her attention first.

And for the evening, the only things floating in her mind in a fuzzy and warm cocktail, was a promise of tomorrow and seeing 'a movie at a movie theater'. The way he laughed and told her that her little joke was funny and she, too, was funny. And when he laid down in her old, musty bed with her and she laid down on her side, the feelings that came with her as he pulled her into him to rest on him for the night. Her head was swimming so much with these new emotions that she was so scared and afraid of; but Bane's radio-static voice grated it all away. Like sandpaper cleaning up an old piece of furniture, preparing to make it into something new. Zamirah smiled as she cuddled into him and he pulled the thin blanket over the both of them, talking softly to her to help her fall asleep.

Sending her off to sleep with words that conveyed how much he liked her smile. And how much he liked her presence.


End file.
